On tour with The Coffee Pot Book Club — The Old Dragon’s Head by Justin Newland #HistoricalFiction #TheCoffeePotBookClub #BlogTour @cathiedunn

 You have to check out this excerpt from The Old Dragon’s Head by Justin Newland. Thank you to The Coffee Pot Book Club for inviting me to be a part of this tour.

The Old Dragon’s Head
By Justin Newland

The Great Wall of China may be constructed of stone and packed earth, but it is home to a supernatural beast – the Old Dragon. Both wall and dragon protect China’s northern borders from Mongol incursion. Just beyond the fortress of Shanhaiguan, the far eastern end of the wall protrudes into the Bohai Sea – that’s the Old Dragon’s Head.

Bolin, a young man working on the Old Dragon’s Head, suffers visions of ghosts. The local seer suspects that he has yin-yang eyes and other supernatural gifts. Bolin’s fief lord, the Prince of Yan, rebels against his nephew, the Jianwen Emperor. In the bitter war of succession, the Mongols hold the balance of power. While the victor might win the battle on earth, China’s Dragon Throne can only be earned with a Mandate from Heaven – and the support of the Old Dragon.

In every era, a man endowed with the powers of heaven – the Dragon Master – is born. Only he can summon the Old Dragon, providing he possesses the dragon pearl. It’s the year 1402, and neither the Old Dragon, the dragon pearl, nor the Dragon Master, has been seen for twenty years.  

Bolin’s journey of self-discovery is mirrored by that of old China, as both endeavour to come of age. When Bolin accepts his destiny as the Dragon Master, heaven sends a third coming of age – for humanity itself. But are any of them ready for what is rising in the east? 

Luli’s Po Office was across the road from his house on Fuyuan Street. Healer, seer and geomancer, her intercession on the Laolongtou, when she had prevented them from harming the gulls, reminded him of just how high her reputation was in these parts. 

He found himself walking across Fuyuan Street. What was he doing? Was he really going to seek her help? A magpie hopped along her threshold and then flew off, pursued by his mate. A pair of black and white birds: that was a good sign. He fingered his yin-yang coin charm; the black side with a white dot in the middle and a white side with a black dot in the middle. Yin and yang. The Tao had spoken to him. The magpies were a good omen: he was on the right path. 

Luli opened the door, bowed and showed him in. The last time he’d entered her Po Office was when, as a youngster, he had played with Ru. Despite that, the familiar fresh smell of camphor wood wafted over him. Boxes and scrolls in one corner, crates in another, the shop was more or less as he remembered it. The pawned items were neatly labelled in small pigeonholes towards the back of the store. The room emanated a mysterious serenity, a sense of everything in its place and a place for everything. Bolin liked that. In a world of tumult and upheaval, such order, any order, was a welcome restraint. 

“Master Bolin,” Luli said, wearing a long-sleeved turquoise gown. “You’ve come. What can I do for you?”

Was she expecting him? She had the foresight of yin-yang eyes, so perhaps she was. “Please, I need your help,” he muttered. 

“Go on,” Luli replied. 

 “I’m frightened, Luli. It started with headaches, then strange dreams. Now I’m seeing and hearing strange things,” he admitted. There, he already felt better. 

“What kind of things?”

 

“Dream visions, terrible things, they are so real, I wake up in a cold sweat. And there’s a hand clasped around my throat. I hear a man’s voice.”

“What does he say?”

“Phrases like ‘release me’ and ‘help me.’ I was convinced there was a demon inside me. Dong tried to exorcise it, but when it didn’t work, he told me I wasn’t possessed.”

“Did he?” Luli said, pacing the floor like a tigress. “I think I know what is happening to you.” 

“You do? What is it? Tell me,” he blurted out. 

“Can you show me your birthmark?” Luli asked. 

“What? Why? I don’t understand.” 

“You know I am the custodian of gifts and bequests left by my deceased customers – the soul donors. Some leave letters for their soul receiver. I’ve an inkling one of them is for you.” 

“What’s that to do with my birthmark?” he asked, unmasking his exasperation.

“Please,” she replied. “Bear with me.” 

“All right, it’s here,” he said, standing and lifting the lower part of his robe. “There, that squidgy mark above my right ankle.”

“Hah! See! It looks like a reptile; a salamander, possibly a dragon. Let me see if I have a match to it,” Luli said, searching the rows of boxes.

“A match? What are you talking about?”

“I’m the keeper of the Po Office, the house of restless souls,” she said, as her hands moved with swift dexterity along the rows of boxes and packets. “When a person dies, their Po or soul leaves their body and searches for another body to enter – the body of a baby about to be born. Along with the soul, the birthmark of the deceased also transfers to the newborn. It’s the distinguishing mark, the link between the two people, the soul donor and the soul receiver. When the soul donor leaves a gift or envelope for me to pass on to their soul receiver, they draw two things on it: the shape of their birthmark and where it appears on their person.”

“Fascinating,” he said. Dong had told him of the Taoist belief in the transmigration of souls. But to actually read correspondence from the donor of his soul, that was extraordinary and the last thing he had expected from this visit.  

“Hah! Here it is!” Luli cried with an air of triumph and held up an envelope. “Yes. There’s a match, both in shape and position. This gives me immense satisfaction. I am a connection between two complete strangers whose lives overlapped simply because they shared the same soul and one of them is standing right in front of me. This letter is written by the hand of the person who donated their soul to you.”

“Are you sure?” He could barely believe it. The envelope she handed him felt like the most precious thing he’d ever received. In a way, it was. 

“Yes, I am,” Luli encouraged him. “And please, you can open it.” 

Hand shaking, he broke the wax seal. 

“Who is it from?” Luli asked.  

“How would I know that?” He shrugged. 

“Look on the inside of the envelope. The sender should have inscribed his name there.”

He looked. It was blank. 

“There’s no inscription.”

“Let me see,” Luli said, examining the envelope. “I always insist that the donor mark their name on the inside of the envelope. Oh dear, you’re right. There’s nothing. Only this note.”  

“Let me have it,” he insisted. Incredible, his soul donor had left him a note. His heart pounding with anticipation and he read:

 

Doesn't this book sound amazing?! If you would like to grab yourself a copy then head over to your favourite online bookstore - Here!

Justin Newland

JUSTIN NEWLAND is an author of historical fantasy and secret history thrillers – that’s history with a supernatural twist. His historical novels feature known events and real people from the past, which are re-told and examined through the lens of the supernatural.

His novels speculate on the human condition and explore the fundamental questions of our existence. As a species, as Homo sapiens sapiens – that’s man the twice-wise – how are we doing so far? Where is mankind’s spiritual home? What does it look or feel like? Would we recognise it if we saw it?

Undeterred by the award of a Doctorate in Mathematics from Imperial College, London, he found his way to the creative keyboard and conceived his debut novel, The Genes of Isis (Matador, 2018), an epic fantasy set under Ancient Egyptian skies. 

Next came the supernatural thriller, The Old Dragon’s Head (Matador, 2018), set in Ming Dynasty China. 

His third novel, The Coronation (Matador, 2019), speculates on the genesis of the most important event of the modern world – the Industrial Revolution. 

His fourth, The Abdication (Matador, 2021), is a supernatural thriller in which a young woman confronts her faith in a higher purpose and what it means to abdicate that faith.

His stories add a touch of the supernatural to history and deal with the themes of war, religion, evolution and the human’s place in the universe.

He was born three days before the end of 1953 and lives with his partner in plain sight of the Mendip Hills in Somerset, England.

 

Social Media Links:

Website• Facebook • LinkedIn • Instagram • Amazon Author Page • Goodreads

Tour Schedule

On tour with The Coffee Pot Book Club — A Turbulent Peace by Paul Walker #HistoricalFiction #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @PWalkerauthor @cathiedunn

 You have to check out this excerpt from A Turbulent Peace by Paul Walker. Thank you to The Coffee Pot Book Club for inviting me to be a part of this tour.

A Turbulent Peace

By Paul Walker

January 1919. 

Following the armistice, Mary Kiten, a volunteer nurse in northern France, is ready to return home to England when she receives a surprise telegram requesting that she report to Paris. The call comes from her Uncle Arthur, a security chief at the Peace Conference.

Within minutes of arriving at the Majestic Hotel in Paris, Mary hears a commotion in the street outside. A man has been shot and killed. She is horrified to earn that the victim is her uncle. The police report the attack as a chance robbery by a known thief, who is tracked down and killed resisting arrest.

Mary is not convinced. Circumstances and the gunshot wound do not indicate theft as a motive. A scribbled address on Arthur’s notepad leads to her discovery of another body, a Russian Bolshevik. She suspects her uncle, and the Russian, were murdered by the same hand.

To investigate further, Mary takes a position working for the British Treasury, headed by J M Keynes.

But Mary soon finds herself in the backstreets of Paris and the criminal underworld.

What she discovers will threaten the foundations of the congress. 

Le Pistolet Fumant was an odd name for a restaurant located only a few yards from the Champs Elysees. Some may have considered it strangely appropriate to the subject of our intended conversation. The interior was warm, welcoming and tempting. A subdued light gave an intimate air to an arrangement of ornate tables and chairs cosseted with a flush of maroon velvet trimmed with gold. The only concession to its intriguing name was a pair of ancient muskets hung on the wall facing our entrance. The rich smells wafting from waiters’ trays and filtering through kitchen doors teased my senses and banished all other thoughts as we studied our menus in silence. 

Visser had decided. He folded his menu and placed it on the table. He said, ‘Would you consider me too forward if I suggested we use each other’s Christian names instead of the “Mr” and “Miss” from now on?’

‘Not at all.’ I was surprised and pleased he had asked. ‘I would be happy to be called Mary or Maria.’

‘And I am plain Adam with no variant or nickname, I’m afraid.’

We smiled, then I quickly returned to the menu as a waiter approached. Our orders given, both of us seemed to be waiting for the other to initiate a resumption of unfinished conversation from the Astoria.

Eventually, he said, ‘Tell me more about the attack on Keynes and how you came to be following him that night.’

‘Oh, we haven’t finished with the enquiries into Arthur’s murder, have we?’

‘No, but there is no more to be done until I have made a few enquiries. Sazanov heads the most influential of the anti-Bolshevik groups in Paris, but there are others. I need to gather information on the current activities of all of them.’

‘Who would have that information?’

‘I have the SIS dossiers we used for briefing before our assignments in Eastern Europe. The French intelligence service should be able to help, but the Americans will probably have the most detailed information.’

‘I’ve already spoken to Colonel House’s assistant, and the information she offered was helpful but brief and incomplete.’

‘It’s Lansing and his entourage who have the data I need.’

‘Excuse my ignorance, but who is Lansing?’

‘He is Wilson’s Secretary of State, although Wilson doesn’t appear to have much faith in him. Lansing is fiercely anti-Bolshevik and opposed all contact with them. I am assured he holds current and voluminous files on all the parties fighting against Lenin, Trotsky and the Red Army.’ 

I supposed it made sense, but I had an uneasy feeling I was being side-lined. I related the story of my first visit to Bar Felix with Keynes, the retrieval of his notebook, my suspicions aroused by the scheming in street doorways and a sudden realisation of a possible entrapment with a camera. He heard me patiently and without interrupting while we were served with our aperitifs. Finally, I paused my narrative to tackle the mussels we had both ordered. 

‘Tell me, Mary,’ he said, wiping his fingers on a napkin, ‘were you and Major Parkes surprised at the attackers’ use of weapons? You knew a trap had been laid.’

‘I didn’t anticipate weapons would be used in anger for the entrapment. I imagined threats would have been sufficient if needed.’ I paused, remembering the shock of the gunshot. ‘Put it down to my naivety. I should have explained more to Major Parkes, then he would have been prepared. But… we were rushed… there wasn’t time.’ I shook my head to dismiss images of John’s wound. ‘No, please ignore those excuses. It was my fault. I was too eager to scupper their plans. I didn’t think it through properly.’

I was half expecting him to protest that I was blameless and say words to ease my conscience, but he didn’t. He didn’t react at all. I wasn’t sure if he approved of my actions or thought I was foolish. His expression told me nothing. The mussels were finished. Delicious. I dabbed my lips with the napkin, then continued to recount the Keynes incident and its aftermath. 

Doesn't this book sound amazing! If you would like to grab your copy you can do so over on Amazon and get this, it is free to read if you subscribe to #KindleUnlimited. What are you waiting for - add this book to your to-read list TODAY!!!

Paul Walker

Paul lives in a village 30 miles north of London where he is a full-time writer of fiction and part-time director of an education trust. His writing in a posh garden shed is regularly disrupted by children, a growing number of grandchildren and several dogs.

Paul writes historical fiction. The William Constable series of historical thrillers is based around real characters and events in the late sixteenth century. The first two books in the series – “State of Treason” and “A Necessary Killing”, were published in 2019. The third book, titled “The Queen’s Devil”, was published in the summer of 2020.

Travel forward a few hundred years from Tudor England to January 1919 in Paris and the setting for Paul’s latest book, “A Turbulent Peace”. The focus of the World is on the Peace Conference after WW1 armistice. Add a dash of Spanish Flu, the fallout from the Russian Revolution, and you have a background primed for intrigue as nations strive for territory, power and money. 

Social Media Links:
Website, Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Amazon Author Page, Goodreads 

Tour Schedule

"Grief is the price we pay for love." Elizabeth II 1926- 2022

 

Thank you for all that you did. You will never be forgotten.

 

#BookReview - The Iron Warrior Returns (The Legendary Warriors, Book 1) by Michelle Willingham #HistoricalRomance @michellewilling

 

The Iron Warrior Returns

(The Legendary Warriors, Book 1)

By Michelle Willingham 

A fight to save his people

A kiss to save his heart…

To regain his stolen lands and save his people from suffering, Robert of Penrith has returned to marry his enemy’s daughter. To Robert’s surprise, his dearest friend, Morwenna, helps him win the heiress’s hand—despite the danger to them both. The fierce, beautiful miller’s daughter has stood by him throughout his exile. But a single kiss ignites a passion that threatens to upend all Robert’s plans…

The cover of this book had my heart pumping before I had even caught sight of the tagline. Once I had read the blurb, I knew I had to read this book. Michelle Willingham is a new author for me as I had never read any of her books before, and I only found out about this one because I saw it on another book blog. I was kind of expecting the trademark Mills and Boon layout - there would be romance, but with a massive hurdle to get over, before the characters could have their happy ending, and that is what I got with that book, but I also got a lot more. This is a story that is utterly compelling from beginning to end. I really could not read this book fast enough. There is action, danger, forbidden love and of course swoon-worthy moments.

 Morwenna was a character that I really enjoyed reading about. She is feisty, but also vulnerable. Whereas Robert is determined to reclaim his land, but he can't do that if he allows himself to fall in love with Morwenna. Oh Robert, you really are quite blind! I thought the romance was a slow simmering boil, but as soon as Robert realises his own heart then the attraction between the two cannot be denied. I thought the love scenes were beautifully depicted and the author has delivered a very believable romance.

I thought enjoyed every minute of this book. My only complaint is I wish it had been longer (I know Mills and Boon have a recipe that they follow to the letter) but I would have really liked to have spent more time with these characters. As this is book 1, I am hoping I can catch up with them in book 2. Fingers crossed! 

If you love historical romance then you have to buy this book. You can find it over on Amazon

Michelle Willingham

#1 Bestseller in Historical Romance, Regency Romance, and Scottish Historical Romance

Top 100 Kindle Bestseller List, U.S. and Germany

RWA RITA Finalist, 2010, for Best Historical Romance

National Reader's Choice Award Finalist, 2014 and 2017, for Best Historical Romance

Michelle Willingham has published nearly forty romance novels, novellas, and short stories. Currently, she lives in Virginia with her children and is working on more historical romance books in a variety of settings such as: Viking era Ireland, medieval Scotland, Victorian England, Regency England, and medieval Ireland. When she's not writing, Michelle enjoys baking cookies, playing the piano, and avoiding exercise at all costs. Visit her website at: michellewillingham.com

On tour with The Coffee Pot Book Club — On Bur Oak Ridge (Sheltering Trees: Book Three) by Jenny Knipfer #HistoricalRomance #BlogTour #excerpt @JennyKnipfer @maryanneyarde

You have to check out this excerpt from On Bur Oak Ridge (Sheltering Trees: Book Three) by Jenny Knipfer. Thank you to The Coffee Pot Book Club for inviting me to be a part of this tour.

On Bur Oak Ridge

(Sheltering Trees: Book Three)

By Jenny Knipfer

"The plot has its twists and turns to keep readers intrigued…to the very end. A great comfort read that will soothe the spirit with renewed hope and faith." Readers’ Favorite five-star review 

A HISTORICAL NOVEL OF FINDING HEALING AND A SECOND CHANCE AT LOVE

In the early 1900s, quiet and reserved Molly Lund finds refuge from her past at the Nelsons’ farm in Minnesota. In an attempt to turn a new page in her life, Molly works at making peace with her losses and coming to terms with the disfiguring burns on her face. 

Samuel Woodson, the Nelsons’ hired hand, carries his own cares. Split from his family and bearing a burden of misplaced guilt for an act that haunts him, Samuel–seeing past Molly’s scars–draws her out of her self-protective shell. 

Molly and Samuel form a friendship, but just as their hearts lead them deeper, an unexpected guest comes calling, demanding what’s his. 

Will Molly and Samuel find a way to be together or will they be separated, due to impediments beyond their control? Can they trust in God’s plan and travel a path that heals the hurts of the past?  

Readers of historical fiction, Christian historical fiction, and Christian historical ro-mance will delight in this beautifully wrought story of the healing power of love. 

"A heartwarming story of healing from external and internal scars. Through some of life’s harder lessons the characters learn to trust, forgive, and find second chances out of the ashes of pain and loss." 

Anne Perreault, author of eighteen inspirational novels, including the Yellowstone series

Samuel

I pause in my writing, sensing something or someone. I look up from my journal into the eyes of Mrs. Lund. My cheeks blush warm; she has caught me writing and thinking about her. I quickly slap my journal closed.

Her good eye focuses on me. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I swallow, trying to settle my nerves. “Didn’t expect anyone, that’s for sure.”

She looks over the scenery, a faint, rough edge to her tone. “A good day for a stroll.”

“Yes.” I look down and notice King, the Nelsons’ pet blonde Labrador, at her heels. King, congenial to most people, has taken a special liking to Mrs. Lund. I remember my manners. “Care to sit?” I ask, and I move over on the slatted bench to make room.

Her hand flutters to her neck, wrapped in a colorful, crocheted scarf.

“I...suppose,” she answers without much certainty behind her words.

She sits on the edge of the bench, leaving some space between our legs.

What do we talk about?

I regret asking her to sit. Presently, my mind doesn’t dwell on conversing but on writing, and I can’t very well talk with her about what I’ve written in my journal. Or can I?

She releases me of the initial duty. “Did you grow up on a farm?”

She gives me the briefest of looks and focuses back on the rolling hills to the north. King slumps at her feet, unperturbed by the interruption in their walk.

“Yes. A dairy.” How much should I tell her? “You?” I ask.

She keeps her gaze straight ahead, but I notice how she nervously picks at the hemline of her blue, wool blazer. “No. My pa was a lumberjack and my ma a washerwoman. I took after my ma.”

I sense there’s more to her upbringing.

“Oh? How so?” I ask, hoping to draw her out.

I desire to know more about this mysterious woman with a past as veiled as her face.

She sighs heavily. “I married a man like my father and got hired on at the hotel where my mother worked.”

“And...your husband did not move to Menomonie with you?” I inquire.

She intakes a sharp breath. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” I reassure her.

“No. I am sure you are curious about my...situation.” She turns and slants a short-lived smile at me, looking almost mischievous. “I would be.” She pauses and appears to be thinking. “To tell you the truth, I’ve not seen my husband for over five years. I believe that he’s dead. Jacob left me after...” She doesn't continue but bows her head and clenches the fingers on her left hand into a fist. With her right she reaches for the scarred side of her face. “Well, after the accident.”

I nod, not knowing whether to keep asking questions or not. Maybe if I offer something more personal, she might be more comfortable sharing those sorts of details about her life with

me.

“I was...to take over the home farm after my father died. Even though in his will he left the place to Mother. Plans were that I would operate the farm. But, unexpectedly,” I tilt my head and navigate how to proceed, “my mother remarried, and the farm is now in her husband’s name.”

I don’t tell her that my mother’s husband is dead and that it’s my fault. That’s too heavy. Too much.

She turns a sympathetic eye my way. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must be very difficult.”

I nod and agree. “It was. Is.” I switch the heat off myself. “But what about you? Why did you move from northern Wisconsin to Menomonie? And how did you and Mabel meet?”

“Ah, well. That’s a long story.” She smiles, slow and sad. “But I don’t want to ruin this pleasant afternoon with my misfortunes.”

“Well, it should be ‘tit for tat.’ We can share the unpleasantness.”

On a whim I wink at her. She responds with a blooming blush on her smooth, ivory cheek.

“Let’s just say ill-fortune led me to Menomonie, and I met Mabel through her sister, Robin, whom I...gardened with. And Mabel has been asking me to come visit for quite some Time. I finally agreed.”

Her voice sounds scratchier, and she coughs.

I offer my canteen of water to her, unscrewing the cap. “Here, take a drink.”

She takes it, and our fingers brush; hers are icy cold. I’d like to wrap them in the shelter of mine, which, I’m sure, are many degrees warmer.

“Um, thank you,” Mrs. Lund says.

She tips the canteen back, drinks, wipes her mouth, smiles, and hands it back to me. I take it, affixing the cap.

I search her good eye for the truth. “Are you glad you’ve come?” She nods like a happy child. “Yes.”

“Me too,” I tell her, and we sit in silence for a few moments, watching a flock of blackbirds swoop and dive and land in the branches of a nearby oak.

Their cackle reaches an annoying decibel and severs the companionable link we share.

I stand, sling the canteen on my shoulder, tuck my journal in my large coat pocket, and offer my elbow to her. “Can I escort you back to the house, Mrs. Lund?”

A half-smile appears on her face. “I’d like that. Thank you. And you must call me Molly.”

Doesn't this book sound amazing?! You can grab your copy of this book on Amazon UK, Amazon US, Amazon CA and Amazon AU And get this, it is free to read with #Kindleunlimited  So, what are you waiting for?!Go on, treat yourself!

Jenny Knipfer

Jenny lives in Wisconsin with her husband, Ken, and their pet Yorkie, Ruby. She is also a mom and loves being a grandma. She enjoys many creative pursuits but finds writing the most fulfilling. 

Spending many years as a librarian in a local public library, Jenny recently switched to using her skills as a floral designer in a retail flower shop. She is now retired from work due to disability. Her education background stems from psychology, music, and cultural missions.

All of Jenny’s books have earned five-star reviews from Readers’ Favorite, a book review and award contest company. She holds membership in the: Midwest Independent Booksellers Association, Wisconsin Writers Association, Christian Indie Publishing Association, and Independent Book Publishers Association.

Jenny’s favorite place to relax is by the western shore of Lake Superior, where her novel series, By The Light of the Moon, is set.

She deems a cup of tea and a good book an essential part of every day. When not writing, Jenny can be found reading, tending to her many houseplants, or piecing quilt blocks at her sewing machine.

Her new historical fiction, four-part series entitled, Sheltering Trees, is set in the area Jenny grew up in, where she currently lives, and places along Minnesota’s Northern Shore, where she loves to visit. She is currently writing a four-part novella series entitled: Botanical Seasons and a three-part fantasy series entitled: Retold Fairy Tales.

       

Keep current with Jenny by visiting her website at https://jennyknipfer.com. Ways to connect with Jenny via social media, newsletter, and various book sites can be found on her website. 

Social Media Links:

Website, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, BookBub, Amazon Author Page, Goodreads

Tour Schedule

On Tour With Xpresso Book Tours — It Started with a Dance by Tinia Montford #Giveaway #Excerpt #Romance #XpressoBookTours

It Started with a Dance
By Tinia Montford
(Pacific Grove University, #2)
Publication date: July 28th 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance

WILL THEY PULL OFF THE PERFECT PERFORMANCE?

It’s double time for Cami Clinton…

Dance is in Cami’s blood, but a bombshell diagnosis puts her on the sidelines. Now returning for her senior year of college, she’s determined to prove she is the dancer she once was. Each year, at the end of the semester, the campus hosts a dance festival. Cami knows this is her shot at redemption, but while at a party, things go horribly wrong and Cami suddenly has a new boyfriend: Marsh Lincoln.

Marsh Lincoln has two left feet…

He doesn’t dance. A nasty accident haunts Marsh and he’s just ready to graduate. Until he’s told he’s missing credits. The only class left to fill his missing credits? Ballroom dancing. To make matters worse, his girlfriend breaks-up with him in front of everyone at a party, leaving him with a new girlfriend he’s never met before…

It takes two to tango…

Acting like the perfect couple isn’t easy when you’ve just met. When the lines between what’s real and pretend blurs, they have to ask themselves: Can you catch feelings for something that’s all pretend?

EXCERPT

Girl, don’t do it; it’s not worth it. Don’t do it… Don’t do it, Cami. Last time was supposed to be it! Don’t…

Paper crinkled under Cami as she shifted on the exam table, facing the cabinet on the wall. It held a box of gloves, a thermometer, an otoscope, and the little disposable thingies that went with it. She exhaled shakily and squeezed her eyes shut. I swear I’m just thinking about stealing the doctor’s glove; I’m not gonna do it. Last time was it… They are good for cleaning. It would be awful if Devin had to bail me out of jail for stealing gloves in a doctor’s office. I’ll get expelled from school and be forced onto the mean streets of the Tenderloin. I’ll have to fight cats for chicken bones and steal cough syrup to stay high.

Cami’s karma was shot to hell based on her last six months of existence. She didn’t want the big man upstairs to send a bolt of lightning down to obliterate her.

She would be good…

Pushing herself up, she strained to hear any footsteps in the hall. The doctor wouldn’t notice a few missing gloves, would she?

Her phone dinged twice with a text message. It was her best friend, Deja. Saved by the bell.

Where are you?? I thought we were getting lunch? Winter and I are in the restaurant.

Cami slapped her forehead. How could she forget? It was their annual back-to-school tradition. Lunch in Japantown and mochi ice cream afterward. A staple in their friendship since freshmen year and even more important since last semester.

I had to meet with my adviser. Let’s meet for dinner?

Deja’s reply was instant.

Fine. Take a sneak pic of your adviser. Clark is foine.

Cami hung her head. Why did I lie? Deja and Winter, her best friends, knew about her hospital stint. They visited her every day until they had to go home for summer break, right before she finally received her diagnosis. Cami still couldn’t utter the words chronic disease…

She told herself she would confess to them, but when the moment came, she found herself saying viral infection instead. Each time after that, the lie flowed easier and it became harder and harder for her to backpedal. She told herself lying was for a good reason. Cami was tired of being the one people needed to look after. She was reinventing herself after this setback, presenting herself as independent and poised. Even if it was a façade.

Anxiety churned in her stomach, and she hoped her doctor would come back with the results she wanted. A glance at her phone let her know the time.

12:04 PM.

How long had she been sitting here? Twenty or thirty minutes? It was the first day of the semester, and Cami wasn’t letting it slip through her fingers. It was late August and freezing in San Francisco because of the coastal fog and wind. She tugged at the pink chunky sweater she’d paired with a skirt and combat boots. She pulled her knotless braids over her shoulder, biting her lip with a glance at the door before she pushed herself off the exam table.

“I’m just gonna take one. I’ve been through a lot,” she muttered, justifying the petty theft.

Cami plucked a glove from the box and held her breath as if alarms would sound. Once the coast was clear, she took another. Then another. Her hands were full as someone knocked at the door. She squealed, dropping some contraband as she darted across the room and shoved the gloves into her book bag, and plopped her butt back on the exam table, winded from that simple yet covert act.

“Y-yes?”

She tried placing a neutral expression on her face, hoping it didn’t reveal how fast her heart was beating, or her fear that a minor sprint consumed most of her energy.

The door opened, and her doctor’s head appeared. “Camille?”

“Dr. Aguilar.”

The last time Cami was in a hospital, besides her own illness, she found out her father had died. Of course, she didn’t remember this. She had been a toddler; her mother and brother recounted the story solemnly to her years later. It was a good enough excuse to avoid hospitals ever since.

Dr. Aguilar almost changed her mind about hospitals. The older woman’s aura of calmness and matronly appearance never failed to put her at ease. Bracelets adorning both arms and rings on all fingers. Plump. Graying hair. She smiled and her eyes went to the blue glove lying on the floor.

“The gloves fell out of the box…” That was a lame excuse.

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Tinia Montf

Tinia (TUH-NIA) Montford is a Pisces who’s a sap for romance, especially when there’s (tons of) kissing. Loves eighties sitcoms and will consume anything with chocolate. She graduated from the University of San Francisco with a degree in English and Graphic Design.

She is a world traveler having climbed a volcano in Nicaragua, scaled Angkor Wat in the blistering sun, and roamed the Acropolis of Athens. Oh, she also dabbles in short stories occasionally.

If you can’t catch her writing, you can bet she’s overindulging on poke bowls, listening to the same four songs, or chilling with her adorbs doggie. She is currently pursuing her MFA in Fiction. 

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