When Time Flies
Jennifer Moreno
Publication date: February 3rd 2026
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance, Time-Travel
She was just a flight attendant…until she landed in her past.
Indy Kash is a corporate flight attendant, jet-setting with the rich and famous in a world most only glimpse through glossy magazine covers. But beneath the polished service and designer luggage lies a past she’s spent years trying to forget. When a mysterious time-slip yanks her mid- flight into the trauma that derailed her life thirteen years ago, Indy is forced to face the crime that destroyed her future—and the man who made sure she took the fall.
Back in the present, he’s suddenly on board her jet, and Indy’s thrown into a battle across time to stop him from destroying the world. With a reluctant spirit guide, a crash course in time travel, and a love she never saw coming, Indy must untangle the past to rewrite her future.
Can she finally clear her name, save the world, and discover if time really does heal all wounds?
—
EXCERPT:
The old rage from my liver rose, and my intestines churned like an electric whisk on the lowest speed. I was a cliché of both Chinese medicine and Ayurveda. The fact that my shame, anger, and fear culminated into Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD) really made me textbook. As the spiritual experts would say: You keep holding onto old crap.
I’d tried everything to let go of the past. I talked about my feelings to numerous therapists—some good, some not. I even attempted the “woo-woo” including:
Inner child work.
A soul retrieval from a Native American shaman (Apparently my soul couldn’t be retrieved).
Good ole fashioned journaling.
Cry therapy.
Ayahuasca in the Amazon jungle (The result? Shitting and vomiting at the same time).
Exploring my “shadow side.”
Breath work while a didgeridoo played in the background (One word: painful).
Shrooms.
Trauma workshops.
Belief coding.
Vision boarding (I was desperate).
Transcendental Meditation.
Ketamine.
Visits to psychics, mediums, astrologers, and tarot readers, who all agreed…
I was pretty fucked.
Then I returned to the Western approach and did a one-week stint each with Lexapro and Zoloft, which only gave me migraines. I freakin ’loved the I-can’t-even-get-anxious-if-I-wanted-to feeling of Xanax…but alas, it wasn’t enough.
Nothing worked.
I let out a sigh from my belly, as a multitude of yoga teachers had taught me. As I expelled the air, I felt strange…odd…not dizzy, not nauseous, but weird. I checked the monitor that displayed the airshow. Time To Destination, or TTD, was three hours to go until we landed in Teterboro, New Jersey.
The words and numbers on the monitor blurred into an astigmatism.
I rounded the corner into the crew rest and then plopped onto the club seat. Exhaustion crawled through my veins like slow lightning. My vision pulsed. The feeling was jetlag times infinity. I tried to stay centered and think through what was happening. I had been flying, almost nonstop to save money to buy a house. Crossing all those time zones and the constant fatigue combined with the IBD did not make for a healthy lifestyle.
I’d let myself get that run down. Damn.
My body felt weightless. It was like the moment before a fall, that breathless pause—only it never ended. A newfound hum in my ears grew until it swallowed my every thought. My eyes darted over my lap to the khaki fabric wall and finally to the window. The sky brightened to an angelic white, nearly blinding me. I wasn’t dizzy. I had the urge to stare straight ahead, yet I could not focus.
Am I vaporizing?
I stretched out my fingers. They were disappearing! I felt so airy, as if I could levitate off the seat. I grasped the armrests until…
I couldn’t grasp them anymore.
The outline of my body began to blur. I lost the solidity of flesh. Tiny sparks of light flickered along my arms, breaking apart into floating specks, like dust in the sun. These particles—that were once me—scattered outward. Where I had sat, I was now only a swirl of luminous dust, leaving me somewhere between confused and terrified.
The world spun ahead of me, leaving no room for panic, no room to understand. In an instant, purple lightning hummed and sounded like the constant static of a bug zapper. The spinning intensified, yet I wasn’t queasy.
What the fuck is going on?
I realized I was spinning through blackness, as if I was on an otherworldly plane. Then the particles of my body snapped back together and returned it to its human shape. I kept rotating and twirling until, out of nowhere, I smelled old wood and cleaning solution. And then…
There I was, sitting on a chair in a—was it a courtroom?
My mouth was so dry it felt like sand had settled on my tongue. A dull ache pulsed behind my temples, the kind that usually came from waking too early and too thirsty. My eyes darted across the courtroom, desperate to anchor on something steady, but every face seemed sharpened against me, a blur of judgement I couldn’t decipher. My chest tightened, heavy as stone, and though I begged my body to move, shift, or raise even a finger, nothing obeyed. It was as if my body had betrayed me; every molecule refused to budge. Before I could get one thought together, I heard:
“Indy, doodoo, what’s wrong?”
Mom.
Where am I?
Author Bio:
Jennifer Moreno has a master’s degree in creative writing from New York University. She was a corporate flight attendant for six years and is the host of the Corporate Flight Attendant podcast.
She is deeply involved in metaphysical practices, including obtaining certificates in trance and advanced mediumship; medical intuition; and psychic detection. She is also a reiki master and hosted a metaphysical podcast called Two Inches Off the Ground.
In her personal life, Jennifer is a proud Colombian adoptee. As a Colombian American, she enjoys improving her Spanish and exploring her roots in her native Colombia. “Jennifer” is her adopted American name, and “Moreno” is her original Colombian surname, thus combining these different…yet magical cultures.
GIVEAWAY!
When Time Flies Blitz
—
Thanks to my dad losing his job, we’ve ditched Chicago for Fumbuck, Texas—population: redneck. Now I’m living on a rundown farm, scrubbing dishes, and driving a rusty pickup. Worst of all? I’m stuck working alongside a cowboy.
Mary Karlik (also writing as Mary J. Wilson) combines her Texas roots with her Scottish heritage to write happily-ever-afters from Texas to Scotland. 
Strange visitors have appeared in Ethel, their clothes and mannerisms jarring against the familiar rhythm of the coastal town. The woman in Orla and Dave’s spare room speaks in archaic phrases and marvels at electric lights, while the silent man staying with Molly and Cormac carries a translucent device that glows with symbols no one recognizes.
What is coming home now? THE IMPROBABLE ROAD OF RETURN is a reentry story about six weeks in the life of a woman named Jenks. In 2012 she accidentally kills a man on a run and does two years in prison for it. After she gets out in 2015 everything is different and her relationships with the two men in her life must change. Does one even know the full truth? How can Jenks be honest? Her mother has to accept her as a murderer, but how can they both acclimate? What will ever be the same? She shoved the man off the bike with the same force she shoves a grocery cart into a parking lot corral. And that makes her among the worst on earth? Well it did kill the man and she did do time. So she must make a way back to who she is. Isandro is her twenty-eight year old lover and Sauveterre is her seventy-four year old neighbor. She isn’t in love with either of them, is she? Or are the relationships of the twenty-first century just that impossible to understand?
In the small town of Hazard, sometimes love is the greatest Christmas miracle.
