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Friday, July 18, 2025

Book Blitz of Running Hot by Serena Bell (#Contests- Enter to win a $25 Amazon gift card.)

Running Hott
Serena Bell
(Hott Springs Eternal, #4)
Publication date: July 14th 2025
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

A jilted bride. A jaded divorce lawyer. A full tank of gas. What could go wrong?

Rhys: As a cutthroat New York City divorce lawyer, it’s my job to end marriages. Lifetime commitment? It’s for the birds. I do everything in my power to avoid it…until my grandfather’s will says that to save our family’s land, I have to become a wedding planner.

Worse, my first client is Eden Becker. She’s the sunshine-y disaster whose ex-husband I represented a few years ago in their divorce. Eden’s first marriage was a nightmare, so why does she think another one is a good idea?

Turns out, I’m not wrong. Her jerkwad fiancĂ© jilts her, and as her wedding planner, I’m also her getaway vehicle. Now we’re on the road together—and all my complicated feelings about this beautiful, naive optimist are in the car, too. Along with a wild attraction I’ve been fighting since we first faced off across a conference table.

If this road trip goes on too much longer, I’m going to do something I’ll regret forever.

Like fall in love.

A spicy, grumpy-sunshine, jilted bride, enemies to lovers, standalone road trip romantic comedy set in the beloved small town of Rush Creek.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

EXCERPT:

I reach for the sound system.

His hand snakes in and blocks mine. “Driver controls the radio.”

“No, dude. Everyone knows the passenger controls the radio. Besides, if you won’t let me drive at all, that’s not fair. I had to listen to ninety-seven minutes of your dirge list and way too much sports ball. We need a mood change.”

I cue up my playlist and set it on shuffle. “What I’ve Been Looking For” from High School Musical comes on. Rhys groans.

“What?” I demand.

“This is from a kid’s movie.”

“Which you must have seen, if you know that.”

“It was one of Hanna’s favorites. We watched it a thousand times. Which was a thousand times too many.”

“What I’ve Been Looking For” is followed by “Surface Pressure” and “All You Wanna Do,” and Rhys says, “Please tell me this isn’t all from musicals and Disney movies.”

“This isn’t all from musicals and Disney movies,” I say as Taylor Swift’s “You Belong with Me” fills the car.

Rhys’s jaw ticks. His eyes roll. His shoulders twitch.

“What’s wrong with this one?” I demand.

He heaves a long-suffering sigh. “He obviously doesn’t belong with her. Let’s look at the facts: She’s clearly not his type. He wants someone who wears short skirts and high heels, and she’s not comfortable in those clothes. If she keeps trying to convince him he belongs with her, they’re both going to end up miserable.”

I stare at his way-too-good-looking profile in the dimly lit car, agog. “Are you serious?”

“Would you argue with anything I’ve said?”

“It’s a friends-to-lovers song!” I cry. “They’re obviously going to end up together and be super happy. Because she sees him! And understands him. He’s happy when he’s with her, and that isn’t true with the short-skirts-and-high-heels girl.”

“I thought you were swearing off love and marriage.”

“Just because I’m personally swearing off love and marriage doesn’t mean I wish ill on other people who have found their perfect matches.”

This,” he says. “This is why so many marriages end in divorce. Because we hear what we want to hear. And two people can hear the same song and find completely different meaning in it. Imagine if you were with a guy and this was your song, and every time you heard it you thought about how cool it was that he’d finally seen you for the awesome bleachers girl you are, and he thought about his ex-girlfriend and her short skirts and high heels and how he wished you’d get some personal style.”

“Grim!”

“Realistic,” he corrects.

One of his hands leaves the wheel. Settles briefly near his knee. Creeps into my Cool Ranch Doritos bag.

“What are you doing?” I shriek.

“Stress eating,” he says. “Your playlist has driven me to it.”

I do everything in my power not to crack a smile. “You don’t eat junk food,” I point out.

“That was before I realized that despite being divorced by a sociopath and jilted by a personality potato, you still believe in true love.”

I can’t help it; I snort at personality potato. “I’m the one who has the stress. I’m the one who got jilted. And if I’d known I was going to have to share my precious Cool Ranch, I would have gotten a bigger bag.”

I sneak a peek at him. He’s definitely trying not to laugh. And unfortunately, it looks good on him. I let him have the Doritos.

“God, these are disgustingly tasty,” he says.

“Right?”

We’re both quiet for a moment, worshipping at the altar of fake food. He quietly licks Cool Ranch flavor off his fingers, and I absolutely, one hundred percent, do not wonder how his tongue feels licking up the inside of his finger and across the tip of his thumb. How it would feel rasping over my own fingertips, drawn into the heat of his mouth.

Oh, hell.

I’ve tumbled into a sexual fantasy about a man who disassembled me like a kid’s discarded play set.

We make our way through Maroon 5’s “Memories” (“Memories of how I cribbed this entire song from Pachelbel’s Canon,” Rhys says grumpily), past Lake Street Dive’s “Hypotheticals” (“Now this is actually a great song; you’re one for, what, a hundred?”) to “Try Everything.”

“That’s shitty advice,” he says. “‘Try everything. ’I mean, no. There are a lot of things that are straight-up bad ideas. Bull-riding. Free solo climbing. Base jumping. Heli-skiing. Recreational fentanyl.”

“She doesn’t mean literally everything,” I say.

“See?” he says. “And there we have it. Two people, same song, totally different interpretations.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t see how that’s somehow a refutation of marriage. You’re so—”

“Pessimistic? Cynical? Misanthropic?”

“All of the above. You ready to tell me what childhood wound made you this way?” I ask, half-teasing…half…not.

He shrugs.

“Yes, Eden,” I say, pitching my voice low to roughly imitate his. “Since we have another five and a half uninterrupted hours of being stuck in this car together with absolutely nothing else to do, I would love to tell you all about my childhood.”

Rhys is quiet for a moment. Then with a sigh, he says, “What do you want to know?”

Author Bio:

USA Today bestselling author Serena Bell writes contemporary romance with heat, heart, and humor. A former journalist, Serena has always believed that everyone has an amazing story to tell if you listen carefully, and you can often find her scribbling in her tiny garret office, mainlining chocolate and bringing to life the tales in her head.

Serena’s books have earned many honors, including an RT Reviewers ’Choice Award, Apple Books Best Book of the Month, and Amazon Best Book of the Year for Romance.

When not writing, Serena loves to spend time with her college-sweetheart husband and two hilarious kiddos—all of whom are incredibly tolerant not just of Serena’s imaginary friends but also of how often she changes her hobbies and how passionately she embraces the new ones. These days, it’s stand-up paddle boarding, board-gaming, meditation, and long walks with good friends.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook Page / Facebook Group / Twitter / Instagram / Newsletter


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Thursday, July 17, 2025

Guest Post- That Little Voice- by Richard Levine Author of Like Driftwwod On The Salish Sea: A Small Town Romance. (#contests- Enter to win an Amazon Gift Card)

Like Driftwood on the Salish Sea by Richard I Levine Banner

LIKE DRIFTWOOD ON THE SALISH SEA

by Richard I Levine

July 14 - August 22, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Like Driftwood on the Salish Sea by Richard I Levine

A story of undying love, forgiveness, and second chances...

When they met in the fourth grade, it was love at first sight for Mitchell Brody and Jessica Ramirez. He was the freckle-faced kid who stood up for her honor when he silenced the class bully who’d been teasing her because of her accent. She was the new kid whose family moved to San Juan Island, Washington, from San Juan, Puerto Rico, and whom Mitch had thought was the most beautiful girl in the world.

She was his salvation from a strict upbringing. He was her knight in shining armor who had always looked out for her. Through the many years of porch-swinging, cotton-candied summer nights, autumn harvest festivals, and hand-in-hand walks planning for the ideal life together, they were inseparable...until 9/11, when the real world interrupted their Rockwell-esque small town life, and Mitch had joined the Marine Corps.

This is not just the story of a wounded warrior finally coming home to search for the love, and the world he abandoned twenty years before. It is also the story of a man who is seeking forgiveness and a way to ease the pain caused by every bad decision he’d ever made. It’s the story of a woman who, with strength and determination, rose up from the ashes of a shattered dream; but who never gave up hope that her one true love would return to her. As she once told an old friend: “Even before we met all those years ago, we were destined to be together in this life, and we will be together again, because even today we’re connected in a way that’s very special, and he needs to know about it before one of us leaves this earth.”

Book Details:

 Genre: Romance, Literary Fiction

Published by: Indie
Publication Date: June 1, 2025
Number of Pages: 396
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

 

GUEST POST: 

That Little Voice

That little voice is always there. We all have one, maybe two. We simply need to acknowledge it exists and allow ourselves an open mind to hear its counsel. Trust me, I don’t have a multiple personality or dissociative identity disorder of any kind. At least I don’t think so. To be clear, I’m not poking fun at anyone who is coping with this condition. With that disclaimer out of the way, that little voice I am referring to is also known as our intuition. But what is it exactly? At the risk of seeming “out there”, or as my friend describes it; being connected to the woo woo world (and she is! but that’s another story), based upon so many past experiences I firmly believe my intuition is a connection between me and my spirit guides, or if you prefer, my guardian angels. They’re always with us—from our entry into this physical world at birth, to the time we are called back home. It’s that little voice that warns us that something isn’t right or makes the hairs on the back of our necks stand up. It is that funny feeling that convinces us to delay a trip, take a detour, or even think of a long-lost friend or relative right before they call. How many times have we had that happen and say “what a coincidence, I just thought of her yesterday!”

One afternoon many years ago I was in San Francisco hoping to reunite with a friend. It was spontaneous on my part because she didn’t know I was in town. I thought I’d surprise her. But this was long before cell phones, text messages, or even email. After several attempts to reach her from various phone booths and even going to her apartment, I’d given up hope. Feeling defeated as I drove away, that little voice kicked in. Instead of entering the freeway when the light had changed, I continued straight. At each subsequent intersection, I followed my gut—never second guessing a right or left turn. Eventually, I ended up at a local farmers market. I decided to check out the myriad of tables filled with fresh produce, juices, and other goods. Sure enough, there she was helping some friends sell their wares. We had lunch and spent a couple hours catching up before continuing on my way.

For me, that little voice is also present when I’m writing, be it the next novel or an op-ed piece. On several occasions, while driving and simultaneously deep in the imaginary world of a current book project, I’d arrived at my final destination without being able to recall any part of the drive. How did I not end up in a ditch on the side of the road? Please keep in mind that I don’t imbibe or do drugs. Although one time after driving home late at night through a torrent of rain and wind (it was a dark and windy night…), and not being able to recall most of that journey, a stiff drink would have been justified. Was one angel providing the crystal-clear imagery of my next chapter while another angel took the wheel and safely guided me home? To that end, I believe my guardian angels have collaborated with me when I am writing—from an idea that wakes me in the middle of the night, to when I’m searching for just the right phrase, or better yet, when I’ve finished several pages of dialogue between two or more characters, and then read what I couldn’t recall writing. Sure, my fingers were dancing all over the keyboard, but I am convinced that those characters, by way of that little voice (my guardian angels or spirit guides) dictated the direction, tone, and length of the conversation. As I button this up, they’re laughing right now because one of them just said they should receive equal billing on my book covers. What’s next, a percentage? :-)


 Read an excerpt:

1

Seattle, Autumn 2021

Mitch watched the I-5 traffic stream by like duty-bound ants marching in neat columns on their way to another conquest. He had wanted to open the window, covered with many months of dirt and grime, but it would have taken a half-dozen requisitions and just as many months before the maintenance department would have tended to it. He didn’t care about gaining a better view of the endless procession of late afternoon commuters; he was hoping to get a better view of the sun setting over the Olympic Mountains from the vantage point of the eleventh floor doctor’s office downtown.

Whether it was from an office building or from the decks of a ferry plying the waters of Puget Sound, it didn’t matter to him. Simply seeing the sun wash over the evergreens once again eased his anxiety faster than the strongest pharmaceutical he’d ever been prescribed. And over the course of the past few years, he’d been prescribed more pills for more reasons than he cared to count. But he wasn’t concerned about any of that now. He was focused on finally getting home.

At times, he questioned the life-altering choices he had made or the ghosts he had been avoiding for so long. At times, he even wondered why they had that much power over his better judgement, or if, in the end, he had avoided them at all.

It had been many years since he had last visited Seattle. The city seemed so foreign to him now. The places he enjoyed on his rare visits: a University District music store he had loved for their extensive inventory of compact discs, a Pioneer Square sports bar within walking distance of the football stadium, and a waterfront seafood restaurant he had listed among his favorite places, were all long gone. Except for the Space Needle, the skyline was not how he had remembered. A decade or more of gentrification that had given birth to a collection of glittering glass-on-steel architectural masterpieces, could only distantly hide the once-vibrant intersection of First Avenue and Pike Street. No longer decorated with flower baskets filled with a colorful bounty, or teaming with hungry buskers distracting eager tourists heading toward the Pike Place Market, this, as with other downtown boulevards once bursting with a vibrance representative of all the city had been known for, now seemed soulless. Empty paper coffee cups danced across the pavement like tumbleweeds, while lifeless eyes peered from wind-tattered tents that shared the sidewalks with empty storefronts and growing mounds of trash. Save for a recollection of a few clandestine excursions, Mitch no longer had any interest in this place. He wanted to conclude his business and be on his way back to a world that was also nothing more than a distant memory: a world filled with blackberry, apple, and pumpkin pies cooling on windowsills in the warmth of a late summer morning, the Memorial Day parades led by a high school band, the volunteer fire department, and a collection of potbellied members from the local VFW, and the potpourri of Fourth of July barbecues, sack races, and firework displays lighting up the skies over a Rockwell-esque Friday Harbor. It was a place he had wrapped around his insecurities as if it were a goose-down comforter used to keep warm during a snow-driven winter storm, and it was the place he had avoided. Maybe going back and facing the ghosts of his past would be more painful and life-threatening than the physical wounds and emotional scars he’d sustained during his multiple tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. Yet here he was, as if a few more tests and one more opinion might have produced the silver bullet that would have magically reversed every bad decision he made over the past twenty years during a self-inflicted exile.

For the tenth time in as many minutes, he glanced at his watch, then up at the wall clock for confirmation. He’s late again, he thought before becoming aware of the clock’s relentless ticking and noticing the long shadows cast upon the opposite wall. To him, those shadows resembled a life slipping away—a life he felt no more able to grasp and hold on to no more than he could grab and hold on to any one of those shadows—and it abruptly reminded him of one of the last times he saw Alex.

* * *

Iraq 2004

“Is that who I think it is?”

Mitch reflexively cringed then turned toward the sound of the familiar voice. “Alex! I mean, Captain,” he quickly corrected himself, in front of the squad of men in his charge.

“Holy cow, Mitch, what the hell! What brings you to Baghdad?”

“Besides an all-expense paid luxury vacation, courtesy of Uncle Sam?” He forced a smile, then dismissed his men before continuing. “My unit was moved over here in oh-three from Afghanistan…for the invasion. We’ve been doing a lot of probing for, you know,” he lowered his voice, “retaking Fallujah. I don’t suppose you have anything to do with planning that, sir?”

Alex surveyed his immediate surroundings before responding. “No one’s within earshot now. Even if they were, you can drop the captain and the sir nonsense.”

“I’ll take that as a yes…sir.”

“C’mon, Mitch, let’s not do this here.”

“Fair enough, Alex. You were saying.”

“I pulled a few strings to get some of the best recon units for a little fun I’ve got planned before we launch the main operation. And yes,” he winked and attempted a little levity, “I even asked for you.”

“Very funny. Let it be known that even over here, you’re trying to get me to do your heavy lifting. When are you ever gonna admit that if it wasn’t for my size, speed, and blocking ability, you would’ve never scored all those touchdowns in high school?”

“That was you?” He smirked. “I did pretty well in college without you by the way.”

“Yes, I’ve heard…constantly. No offers from the pros, huh?”

“I had more important business to attend to.” Alex patted his sidearm.

“Yes, I’m well aware of that too.”

“What, you think you’re the only patriot?”

“So, that’s what you call it!”

“Mitch, please. There’s a lot you need to know. There’s a lot we really need to discuss. Not here, though. This isn’t the time or the place.”

“I’ll give you that. So, moving right along, when did you get here?”

“I’ve been in country for about two months now.”

Mitch smiled. “That’s hardly enough time to get your utilities dirty.”

Alex ignored the dig. “Truth be told, it seems like I’ve been here forever. Anyway, I’ve been here long enough to have that kid over there waiting to do errands for me every day.” He laughed and pointed to a ten-year-old Iraqi boy waiting nervously at his tent. “Showed up one day outta nowhere and now he’s like my shadow. You’ve been up to your neck in this for how long now?”

“Since summer of oh-two. Afghanistan and now here. So, who is this kid, like your food taster or your house boy?” He studied the child with suspicion.

“Food taster?” Alex laughed. “He cleans up the tent, does my laundry…provides a little intel now and then. I pay him in MREs, which I’m sure he sells on the black market.”

“Smart little guy. Just don’t eat anything he brings you,” Mitch warned. “I don’t trust the locals.”

“You don’t trust anyone, especially me.”

“Well, it’s not as if you didn’t earn it.”

“I guess in your mind, at least until we have a chance to talk, I deserve that.”

“You do, but I’m serious about not trusting the locals, Alex. You never know who’s an insurgent or who’s been compromised.”

“Don’t worry, I checked him out. He’s a good kid.”

“Famous last words. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Well, anyway, you’re an intelligence officer, so I guess you know what you’re doing. After all, you made it through ROTC and all that other fancy training with your boyish good looks intact. I’ll bet the folks back home are proud of you as you rise through the ranks like a rocket.”

“Jealous?”

“Not one bit.” Mitch said defensively.

“Keep this to yourself…the real damage is on the inside.” Alex pointed to his head.

“I had heard that about you intel officers.”

“And look at you! Three stripes! That didn’t take you as long as I thought it would, Marine. At the rate you’re going—”

“Not me, brother. Except for burn-pit duty and having to get all those booster shots, I was happy just being a grunt. Only now I’ve got responsibilities like leading a squad on patrols. And on top of everything, I’ve got these guys who are just a couple years younger than us calling me ‘Pops,’ of all things.”

“Burn-pit duty, huh? I didn’t know they gave out Purple Hearts for sucking down toxic smoke. Does that stuff really get you stoned?”

“I almost wish it did. Sometimes that stuff made me puke up my guts like there was no tomorrow. I should’ve gotten those medals for that instead of playing dodgeball with bullets.”

“Yeah, I’m told everybody heard about that…front page of the paper back home.”

“Didn’t mean to steal your thunder.”

Again, Alex ignored the dig. “Next time you should duck and dodge a little faster.”

“Honestly, it was nothing. A couple grazed me, is all. Here...” He pointed. “Here, and over here. It’s no big deal. Anyway, how’d you hear about it?”

“It was in Jess’s last letter. She included the article. I hear you two have been corresponding.” Alex said, then looked for a reaction from Mitch. There was none.

“She wrote once. It was the first time I had heard from her since…anyway, she didn’t have much to say other than you were on your way over here. She asked if I could keep an eye out for you. It was only right that I respond. I told her I would. Nothing more.”

“That’s all anyone could expect.”

“Uh huh…by the way, how’s your little boy? Mateo, isn’t it? He must be getting big.”

“Like I said, we’ll talk…anyway, Mitch, I had already read up on your exploits.”

“You’ve been reviewing my personnel file? If I didn’t know any better, Alex, I’d say you really do have something planned and you’re gonna want me to carry it out for you.”

* * *

Doctor Lenkovich’s Office
The Present

“Did you hear me, Mitch? Mitch? Master Gunnery Sergeant Brody?”

Startled, Mitch hadn’t heard the doctor enter the room. “Sorry, doc, it’s been a long day…it’s been a long week.”

“Not a problem.” The doctor took a seat. “When I came in, you were talking to yourself. Can I ask what you were thinking about?”

“Nothing really…actually, that’s not true. I was thinking about everything you guys put me through the past couple months. Not just you or this place, but you know, all the tests, the paperwork, going through the process. I was thinking about getting out of here and finally getting back home.”

“How long has it been?”

“Far too long. I would’ve been there several weeks ago if I hadn’t been detoured to Bethesda and then Pendleton before ending up here.”

“You do know it was a suggestion to come here, right? A strong suggestion, perhaps, but it wasn’t an order. After all, your retirement came through and you were discharged. Don’t forget, you’re a civilian now, and I think it’s important for you to get established with a doc. It just makes sense, considering.”

“I know. Everybody here keeps reminding me. Did I tell you it wasn’t my choice to retire?”

“No, you didn’t. Was separating hard for you?” the doctor asked.

“Nah. I’ve had more than my share. It was time…I’m just trying to get used to it…” Mitch trailed off as the wall shadows once again stole his thoughts.

“Anyway,” Doctor Lenkovich said, “it’s just the corps’ way of taking care of one of its highly decorated heroes.”

“By forcing me out?” He snapped back as the flip of a light switch washed away the distraction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…anyway, I don’t think of myself as a hero.”

“Forcing you out? Come on, it’s a medical discharge. What choice did they have? Anyway, you’ll be happy to know they finally sent the rest of your medical records. You’d think that after all these years I’d be used to the red tape and inefficiency that’s inherent…I’m rambling, sorry. All those tests we ended up duplicating since you arrived here…let’s just say, in case there was any doubt…well, let’s just think of the whole thing as one more confirmation. Which is what you wanted, and what you rightfully deserved. I hope the past week with us hadn’t been an inconvenience.”

“An inconvenience?” He chuckled. “From being constantly poked and prodded, or having the unwanted attention because I’m some highly decorated…?”

“Both. Are you saying you didn’t want all that special attention?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the above-and-beyond from you and the staff. Even got a couple of names and numbers of some very nice nurses. Even so, I’ve never been one for medals, parades, accolades, etcetera. No, not me. That was Alex’s thing. In all honesty, I hate the attention. It’s embarrassing and it makes me uncomfortable. Especially when so many others here don’t get half of what they deserve.”

Their eyes locked in an uncomfortable moment of silence.

“Luckily for you,” Doctor Lenkovich continued while jotting Alex’s name in Mitch’s chart, “there may be one more parade and then you can pack the uniforms, the medals, and hopefully the bad memories, and put them all into mothballs.”

“What?” Mitch looked confused.

“Mothballs…I guess people don’t use those anymore.”

“I know what mothballs are. What parade?” Mitch asked. “Whaddya talking about?”

“Didn’t anyone from your hometown contact you?”

“I didn’t tell anybody I was coming…well, that’s not totally true. I left a voicemail for one guy to meet me, but he knows not to say anything to anyone. So, I’m in the dark here, Doc.”

“Hold on a sec.” He skimmed through Mitch’s file. “Where’s that note? Here it is. Someone from the San Juan Island VFW post contacted the Pendleton base commander right after the news ran a story on you.”

“Recently?”

“Several weeks back. They mentioned that you were coming home and that you were being considered for the Congressional Medal. Is that true?”

“It’s news to me.”

“Anyway, they want to throw you a homecoming parade…wanted to do it the day you got back there. So, I guess that’s why this guy wanted a heads up on an exact day. I’ve got a number right here. Do you want to call them?”

“No…no, I can’t.” He shook his head. “And they can’t do anything if they don’t know when I’m coming. They don’t know I’m coming, right? You didn’t call them?”

“Why would I? It’s not my responsibility. Although if you ask me, a welcome home like that might be good for you.”

“It’s been a long twenty years, Doc, and I’m tired in more ways than one. I don’t want the attention. And before you ask, I don’t wanna talk about why, and I don’t wanna talk to the shrink about it. I’ve talked to enough shrinks. Hell, I don’t even wanna think about it.”

“Understood.” He continued to flip through the chart, stopping to review one page. “Mitch, if I may…I’m still curious. I suspect you weren’t thinking about home just now when I walked in because I overheard some of what you were saying. The duty nurse told me you had another restless night. You were talking in your sleep again. What were you really thinking about? If not home, then what? Who? Your friend?”

“My friend?”

“Alex? You’ve mentioned him a number of times.”

“Who, Alex? My friend? He wasn’t my…no, I wasn’t thinking about him.” Remembering the shadows, Mitch stared back at the wall. “Why?”

“Because I’m told you’ve had conversations with him, with this ‘Alex,’ when you’re alone, and you’ve yelled out his name in your sleep more than a few times, and…and I’m told one night it was as if you were trying to warn him about something. Mitch, I heard you mumble his name just now when I walked into the room. It’s okay to admit you were thinking about him.”

“Just as long as I don’t think he’s sitting right here?” Mitch winked and smiled at the empty chair next to him to see the doctor’s reaction.

“I did see that in your file too. It says here you’ve been told PTSD manifests in many ways. I do know from experience with other patients, any deep-seated guilt over the death of a friend can make a person believe the deceased continues to hang around. So, tell me,” the doctor looked up from the file, “has that been happening? Are you seeing him? Talking to him? You can tell me.”

“I was only joking, Doc…no, it hasn’t happened, and it never did happen, and it’s not happening now, so, I don’t know what the duty nurse thought she heard. And for the record, I was joking with the doc at Bethesda too. That was my mistake. She was one of those uptight types. I was only trying to give her a rise, lighten the mood. I can’t believe she put that in my chart.”

“A couple of times. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. If you say it didn’t happen—”

“It didn’t!”

“I’ll make a note of that. Okay, moving right along...”

“Yes, let’s. About those last few tests…you said there’s nothing new to report, right?” Mitch asked.

“Do you have anything new to report to me? Headaches the same?”

“No better, no worse.”

“Any more episodes of nausea?”

“Just the one time this past week. I think it was from the sausages. They smelled a little funny, now that I think of it. I actually thought I saw one move. Other than that, the food here is pretty decent.”

“You’re joking, of course, yes?” Lenkovich asked

“About it being pretty decent?”

“Moving on…any confusion? Memory loss?”

“No confusion. However, I do have some memories I’d like to get rid of.”

“Any visual disturbances, slurring of speech, issues with balance or muscle weakness?”

“No, no, no, and no.” Mitch said.

“Okay, then. The latest tests show everything’s the same: the blood work, the scans, your sense of humor, no changes…for now, anyway. However, if you start to notice anything different, like if you actually become funny, you let me know.”

“So…then…we’re all good, right? We’re all done then.”

“Mitch, we could do more here, you know? The rate that this thing…it’s unpredictable. There’s a procedure we can do, it’s relatively new and—”

“I know, Doc, you’ve told me already. I’m not interested, sorry.”

“Look, I can arrange—”

“Thanks, but I think we’re all done here. Trust me, I’ll continue to take all my meds as directed, I’ll call when I need refills. I’ll call you if anything changes, I promise.”

“In that case, please do me a favor? After you get home, after you get unpacked and settled in, had some time to yourself, looked up old friends, I’d like to have you come back here in a couple months and—”

He shook his head. “Not gonna happen. I’m really not interested.”

“Listen Mitch—”

“Please, Doc, I’m finished listening. It’s nothing against you. You’ve actually been the most understanding, the easiest person to work with. I just don’t wanna do any more...I can’t do any more. All my years in the Corps I’ve had people telling me how to live my life, when to get out of bed, when to eat, who and how many to kill, I’m finished with all of it. I’ve got a small farm and a small hardware store waiting for me up on San Juan Island. For far too long now, I’ve been…I’ve been dreaming about waking up to a rooster’s cry, frying up bacon and some fresh-laid eggs in a cast iron skillet for breakfast, and topping off my coffee with warm milk straight from the teat before heading in to town to help some poor do-it-yourselfer find an odd sized doohickey for his hot water heater; all the things I detested growing up, which I’ve been missing for more days than I can count. I wanna get my hair cut at Freddie’s barbershop on Spring Street, where old men in suspenders still read newspapers, smoke cigars, and solve the world’s problems over a game of checkers.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Wanna know what’s really wonderful? Sitting by the big stone fireplace in Jentzen’s CafĂ© on a winter afternoon, drinking Irish coffee with a hunk of hot beer bread slathered in strawberry jam. And all the while, breathing in the heavy scent of fresh cut spruce and fir draped all across the windows as snow flurries dust the sidewalks and people rush by to get their Christmas packages to the post office before closing time. Now, that’s wonderful.”

“It sounds like a wonderful life in Bedford Falls.” Doctor Lenkovich quipped in his best George Bailey imitation.

“What?”

“Bedford Falls? It’s a Wonderful Life? The movie…never mind. It sounds like a wonderful life, Mitch, and I can see I’ll have a hard time convincing you to come back here for any follow-ups.”

“I was away for a long time, a lifetime, and now time is my enemy. So, once I set foot off that ferry I am not coming back to Seattle.”

***

Excerpt from Like Driftwood on the Salish Sea by Richard I Levine. Copyright 2025 by Richard I Levine. Reproduced with permission from Richard I Levine. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:
Richard I Levine

Richard I Levine is a native New Yorker raised in the shadows of Yankee Stadium. After dabbling in several occupations and a one-year coast-to-coast wanderlust trip, This one-time auxiliary police officer, volunteer fireman, bartender, and store manager returned to school to become a chiropractor. A twenty-five-year cancer survivor, he’s a strong advocate for the natural healing arts.

In 2006 he wrote, produced, and was on-air personality of The Dr. Rich Levine Show on Seattle’s KKNW 1150AM and after a twenty-five-year chiropractic practice in Bellevue, Washington, he closed up shop at the end of 2016 and moved to Oahu to pursue a dream of acting and being on Hawaii 5-O.

While briefly working as a ghostwriter/community liaison for a Honolulu City Councilmember, a Hawaii State Senator, and volunteering as an advisory board member of USVETS Barbers Point, he appeared as a background actor in over twenty-seven 5-Os, Magnum P.I.s, NCIS-Hawaii, and several Hallmark movies. In 2020, he had a co-star role in the third season episode of Magnum PI called “Easy Money.”

While he no longer lives in Hawaii, he says he will always cherish and be grateful for those seven years and all the wonderful people he’s met. His 5th novel, To Catch the Setting Sun, was inspired by his time in Hawaii. Like Driftwood on the Salish Sea is Levine’s first foray into the romance genre.

Catch Up With Richard I Levine:

www.DocRichLevine.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @rlevinedc
Instagram - @rlevinedc
Threads - @rlevinedc
Facebook - @RichardLevineAuthor

 

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Wednesday, July 16, 2025

Interview of Tom Wood Author of A Table Rock Mystery (#contests- Enter To Win A Signed Copy of the Book)

 



Book Details:

Book Title: A Table Rock Mystery by  
Category: Adult Fiction (18 +), 284 pages 
Genre: thriller , psychological thriller
Publisher:  BQB Publishing
Release date:   March 2024
Content Rating:  PG. My book is rated PG for the times some of the mob characters utter mild curse words     
BOOK DESCRIPTION:
A young couple decides to trade city lights for the twinkling stars of Branson, Missouri to fulfill their lifelong dream of owning a small-town tavern. But their idyllic country life filled with music and laughter takes a dark turn when a simple evening walk along the Ozark shoreline spirals into a whirlwind of chaos.

A forged loan application ignites a chain reaction of events leading to a shocking kidnapping and a string of murders that has the local sheriff's office scrambling to uncover the truth.

What started out as a dream quickly transforms into a nightmare as innocent people find themselves caught in a web of crime, betrayal, and one multi-million-dollar secret. With each twist more unexpected then the last, the real question is: who will make it out alive?
Buy the Book:
Amazon
add to Goodreads
 Interview: 

1. Where do you get your inspiration? 

I’ve always loved stories from books or movies. My taste in genre is not specific. I like stories that develop characters who later become connected to the plot with pace that keeps my interest as well as my anticipation.

2. Favorite quote (doesn’t matter the source).

 I just finished watching To Have and Have-not, starring Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. At one point while she is leaving the room, she turns and smiles and tells Bogie how he can find her if he wants to. “Just whistle. You know how to whistle, don’t you? Just put your lips together and... blow!”

3. What is the most surprising thing you discovered while writing your book(s)? 

I begin with a few thoughts about a plot and then consider the characters that might fit inside of it. From that point on, my characters take over, carrying me from a hook right into the next inciting incidents. By now, the story has its own life, and I find myself as anxious. as I hope the reader becomes, to ride it all the way over the finish line.

4. When did you first consider yourself a writer? 

While working in my career jobs, I often attended writer classes at night, some at Elmhurst University or College of DuPage. One such opportunity happened after I signed up to attend such instructions from a published author. Along with twenty-four other wannabees, we met at his Chicago apartment twice a week for three months. On one occasion, he gave us an instruction to “free-think write” ( he called it). There were only twenty minutes remaining for the class. Anything goes, no rules, just write. I wrote about a man walking under a midnight moon, seemingly lost and becoming desperate. As he walked aimlessly through the forest, he spotted a small house that appeared vacant except for one, dimmed light coming from behind a shade covered narrow window. It frightened him and he considered turning back rather than approaching any further. Curiosity pushed aside the timid concerns. He continued until he arrived and was able to hear sounds that caused his heart to beat beyond control. He inched up from under the window...and.....TIMES UP – Pencils down!! Class was ended. At our next session the author/teacher announced that he would read only one of our stories. He read mine and then asked for the class to offer their thoughts about it. The first to speak was a young attorney from Sidley Austin who said that the only thing he could say was that he wished that he had written it. A few heads nodded agreement, the author/teacher smiled, and... I felt discovered!

5. What do you hope your readers take away from A Table Rock Mystery? 

I hope my readers feel rewarded by the telling of the story that was hidden behind the scenery that prompted their visit to this Ozark wonderland.

 
Meet the Author:

Tom Wood became a reporter and byline journalist at four newspapers in suburban Chicago after retiring from the U.S. Postal Service. After Alone Along Writers' Roads, published in 2024, A Table Rock Mystery is his second published novel. 
Connect with the author:  goodreads 
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Tuesday, July 15, 2025

Book Blitz of How To Date a Prinze by Hayden Stone #Contests- Ent to win An Amazon gift Card and Swag)

How to Date a Prince
Hayden Stone
Publication date: July 15th 2025
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance

 

What happens when the British Crown Prince falls in love with an American man who opposes the monarchy?

Prince Auggie swears he’s no kind of dashing prince: daydreamer, private—and also secretly very gay. He’s instantly horrified when his father, reality TV addict King James, signs Auggie up for a reality TV show to promote the monarchy, where the man with the most talents wins—and to help find Auggie a bride, the very last thing Auggie wants. But duty calls.

When Auggie finds out his co-star is irritatingly gorgeous Thomas Golden, the charismatic dual American-English heir to the Golden hotel fortune, it’s another step too far. There’s at least one problem: Prince Auggie’s already recently crossed paths with Thomas Golden one disastrous night in a London club. Plus, there’s that whole second not-so-small, not-so-secret problem—the Golden family wants to get rid of the monarchy.

Once Auggie and Thomas arrive on set in the English countryside, it’s already unapologetically hate at first sight. It’s going to be a very long summer of filming…until sparks fly behind the scenes, leading them to make a searing heatwave all their own. But soon, real reality strikes, and Auggie must choose between the life he’s destined for as the future king—or dare risk everything for love.

An enemies-to-lovers, opposites-attract, feel-good gay royal rom-com.

For fans of Red, White & Royal Blue, Boyfriend Material, and The Unlikely Heir.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

In my next life, I’ll be reborn as Harry Styles. Or maybe as the reincarnation of Taylor Swift. I’ll still be famous if I must, but I’ll be famous due to my talent instead of my chance birth as a royal. I’m quite sure I’m a negative ten on the talent-o-meter.

Everything else is just genetics. And training.

It’s Friday night in London, and Mayfair glitters. When I step out of the black SUV, straightening to my full height, I pause in the drizzle for the cameras on the red carpet at the charity ball. Snapping shutters echo, and a familiar blinding flash dazzles my eyes.

I give my best public smile and stop in a flattering pose, then strike another pose for my best angles like the Danish prince once taught me during a secret fling. Work it, babe, Prince Theodor coached me then as we drank spicy margaritas, which incidentally led to more spice.

More confidence, more sultry. Hand on my hip and a three-quarter turn to the cameras.

The crowd cheers their approval as I’m blinded by the lights. I wave, smile broadly, and carry on, mindful of not tripping over my own feet.

“Prince Auggie! Over here!”

“Prince Auggie—where’s Katie? I’ll be your date!”

“Prince Auggie, come back!”

Tonight, I’m shamelessly selling the image of charming Prince Auggie, future British monarch. I’d like to meet him too, to be honest, because he’s great in the press. Cool guy. From the outside, he has it together. The media and public are fascinated, so somehow, I must be doing something right. Or quite possibly, I’m doing something wrong enough that the media sticks to me waiting for my next mistake.

I’m all kitted up in an edgy mohair tux that an up-and-coming London designer sent over to me. I’m at least looking the part of the dashing prince, even if I can’t get over the idea that the dashing prince is supposed to be me.

To be fair, I do look good enough, taking after my mum—see genetics above—though I wish I loved crowds like she had. The looks balance out the panic, my friend Gav told me. He said it’s heaps of fun not knowing what I might blurt out next. For him, maybe. Meanwhile, I try to keep my mouth shut as a preventative measure in case something messy accidentally spills out.

“Prince Auggie, is it true you’re still single?”

“Prince Auggie, would you take a photo with me? It’s my birthday!”

I pause and go to the young woman at the barrier for a photo taken by her friend. The paparazzi goes wild. We both grin, and for a moment, I pretend I’m carefree. “Happy birthday,” I say, on my best behavior as she gives a small curtsy. “How do you do.”

She blushes, too tongue-tied to speak.

My father, the King, told me not to be too extra tonight, as if he can sniff out rising rebellion like the dawn breaks each day. I’m kind of horrified that he knows what being extra means. And that he’s applied being extra to me, specifically. Nothing good can come of that. Especially when I’ve been on my best behavior the last few months.

Which is why I asked the stylist at the earlier magazine shoot I’m coming from to give me a smoky-eye look for evening, after we bonded over our favorite makeup. She tousled my medium-length, light reddish-brown—blond if you’re generous during the summer—hair with product. Plus, a touch of contouring never hurt anyone. Use those cheekbones for the good of the kingdom, she told me, because it’s your royal duty to the people.

Author Bio:

More animal than mineral, Hayden Stone is a writer of fun queer fiction, especially with kissing. He currently lives in Victoria, Canada, and has previously lived in Vancouver, Canada and London, UK. He likes strong coffee and is owned by two cats. You can find out his latest news on Twitter or Instagram, or at his website: haydenstonebooks.com

Website / Goodreads / Twitter / Instagram / TikTok


 

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Monday, July 14, 2025

Book Blast of THE PYJAMA BOY by Steven Murphy (#Contests-Enter to win An Amazon Gift Card)



This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Steven Murphy will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Steven Murphy spent his formative years in Sydney's Redfern.

Abandoned by his mother when only weeks old, his father left him in the care of a cruel, alcoholic stepmother while he himself was in jail. Unbelievably, the child they dubbed the "Pyjama Boy" fought his way through life to achieve his ultimate goal. His story is a poignant and haunting one that captivates its reader from the very beginning and remains long after the book has been closed.

AN INSPIRATIONAL TALE OF SUCCESS AGAINST THE ODDS


Read an Excerpt

There was something odd about the woman driving the yellow station wagon. Her eyes darted around suspiciously. Steve watched her from his patrol car. Her 1988 Sigma moved off from his right at the green lights, to enter the late-night traffic. She had a passenger, a young man with a wispy beard. As they moved, the man looked across at the police car waiting third in line at the red light and then glanced momentarily over his shoulder into the back seat. Sparks spat along the dark surface of the road as he tossed his cigarette out the window of the car.

‘Nervy little punk, ’ remarked the older police constable next to Steve.

‘There’s something odd about both of them in that Sigma...,’ said Steve.

‘Yeah, I think we should have a chat with them.’

As lights turned green and when they were clear of the intersection, Steve pulled past the two vehicles in front of them. The Sigma had increased its pace and was nearly out of view as it turned left almost without slowing. Steve’s pulse rate rose with the revs of the police car. They swung into the side street and passed the Sigma with Red and blue lights flashing, then slowed in front of it. The older policeman put his arm out his window, indicating that the Sigma should pull up at the curb.

While the woman searched a handbag for her license, Steve noticed that there was someone lying on the back seat of the car. Shining his torch through the window, Steve realized with a jolt that the passenger was gagged, with a tee shirt twisted and pulled tightly into an open mouth. The arms were pulled back and bound at the wrists with a leather belt.

Within minutes a second patrol car had arrived at the scene and the couple were taken into custody, their bound and gagged passenger found to be dead. Steve looked at the victim, a man in his mid-thirties and recognized the face of one who had recently ‘helped him in his enquiries.’ Soon there were detectives and forensic officers examining the car and, as the body was being removed, Steve received orders to drive to an address in a nearby suburban street.

About the Author:
I've never thought of myself as special-just someone who has lived through life's challenges like everyone else. But over time, I've come to see that by sharing my journey, with all its imperfections, I might offer something meaningful to others. Life moves so quickly, and the choices we make shape everything. My hope is that by being honest about my experiences, others might find encouragement or even a little clarity for their own paths.

Speaking at Schools and events across Australia has been an unexpected privilege. These moments aren't about presenting a perfect image; they're about connecting with people on a real, human level. I bring photos, videos, and documents to show the truth of my story-not to impress but to connect. When I speak openly, sharing the vulnerabilities and lessons I've learned, something powerful happens: the audience feels it, and suddenly, it's not just my story-its something they can see themselves in, too.

If you would like to have Steve speak to your School, group or organization he can be contacted through email: stevenmurphy_11@bigpond.com

You can connect with Steven Murphy through a number of platforms to learn more about his story and work.

Website: https://thepyjamaboy.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/stevenmurphyauthor
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/56696685.Steven_Murphy

Book Trailer" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUopXLOFQU4

Visit his website to view the one bedroom flats he uses to live in and show his living conditions as described in the book.

Feel free to reach out — Steven is always happy to connect with readers and share more about his journey.

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