My novel, Here To Stay, won first place in the Inspirational portion of the TARA. The final judge was Barbour editor JoAnn Simmons. I’m really surprised, but very thankful, and am in hopes that JoAnn will tell me some ways to improve my novel.
If you’d like a sneak peek into the story, you can check out a few posts where I’ve introduced some excerpts.
Kissing Scene here
First encounter here
And here’s another BRAND NEW PEEK into the novel Here To Stay.
She wrinkled up her nose, very unromantic thoughts swirling in her head. “Real romance is for wimps.” She winked and leaned forward, resentment beginning its’ ugly churn in the pit of her stomach. “And that’s why you have job security. We have to act love out on movies, because it’s the only way we’ll get close to the ‘real thing.’ People don’t believe in fairytales anymore.”
“You’re parents seem happy…so do mine.”
“But that’s a generation ago. How many couples do you know in the 21st century who even like being around each other, my brother’s marriage is the exception, not the rule. Believe me I know. Everybody’s into fast food consumerism. Give it to me now, quick, and it better make me happy or I’ll never shop there again.”
“I don’t sense a hint of bitterness in between those freckles, do I?”
Eisley grinned and inched her gaze back to his. “A hint? Gee, I thought it was an entire color spectrum.”
He chuckled and let her sentence disappear into an unspoken agreement. Silence. The type of silence shared among friends. Friends? She rolled her eyes. Now that was an impossibility. Friends with actor Christopher Wesley Harrison? Yeah, right.
Wes sighed and sank back in his chair with a bewildered shake of his head. A grateful distraction. “All those children in, how many years?”
Eisley lifted her eyes to the ceiling in thought. “Hmm, let’s see, I’m thirty-three and Emma just turned…um…twenty-three.”
Wes ran a hand through his hair and leaned forward, elbows touching the table for a moment. “Eight children within ten years. How did your mother do it?”
“Oh, well, lots of prayer?” Eisley chuckled. “I have one of those loud, annoying, suffocatingly loving families and we all live really close together…I mean aunts and uncles and cousins, so everybody pitches in, like they have with me.”
His gaze sobered, but to her great relief, he didn’t ask the follow-up question she dreaded. The one that led down the path of betrayal, rage, and with God’s continued grace, ended with this shaky hope in her heart. She felt secure in God’s love, and her family’s love. It was any other kind, not found in fiction, which left her petrified.
A waiter broke the conversation with perfect timing, and a tray filled with steaming food.
Wes smile slid into a grin. “The Full English Fry-Up, at your disposal.” He snapped his napkin in the air then placed it in his lap. “What are you parents names?”
Eisley looked up at him and allowed the question to sink in. “Oh, my parents, Nathanael and Kay Jenkins. My dad’s a stone mason and carpenter, and my mom used to be a teacher, but she retired to help me take care of the kids.”
“Shall we pray?”
She lifted her gaze to his as if he’d proposed marriage. He asked to pray? Daggone-it, why did he have to go and do that? She swallowed down a lump in her throat and, by force of habit, placed her open palm out on the table.
At his slight hesitation, she started to slide her hand to her lap. Eisley, you’re not in Pleasant Gap anymore. He caught it in one swift movement and offered her a faint smile.
“I’m afraid I’ve sufficiently distracted you from reading your Bible too. Perhaps, once we’ve finished?”
His words had the same effect as when he’d offered to read the Bible with her in the hallway upstairs. Nothing. Her brain drew a complete blank. Call it shock, fatigue, the most perfect dream of her entire life, but it all ended in the same thing: speechless. A voice in the deepest part of her mind started screaming, Run. Run like you’re escaping a nest of angry bees. Red Alert!
She realized her mouth hung open and quickly closed it, her eyes glimpsing their hands together on the table. How on earth could she run away with his hand attached to hers? She’d have to take his hand with her. Souvenir? She sighed and decided to resort to her best weapon for embarrassment. Humor. “You’re really working on that chocolate pie status, aren’t you?”
He leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “How am I doing?”
Her throat felt strangely dry. “I think you’ve moved up to strawberry, with whipped cream.”
The smile he wore should have owned a disclaimer: Warning. This man is dangerous. Especially for women who are trying their best to steer clear of knights in shining armor.