by Penny Reid
I glanced back at Eilish, who was staring at Patrick now, her eyes just as watery as mine.
I wrapped both my arms around her, pulled her to my chest, and gave her another squeeze. “We’re such a pair of wusses,” I said with a gruff breath.
Her lips curved in a smile as she pulled her gaze away from Patrick to look up at me with the most open, affectionate expression. “Yeah,” she whispered, “but I wouldn’t have us any other way.”
“Me neither,” I whispered back.
“I told you it would be fine.”
“I know.”
“See how happy he looks?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s because he loves you.”
“Eilish.”
She bit her lip as she bent her neck to stare long and deep into my eyes. She didn’t speak, but I wondered if she could read my mind by the intense expression she wore.
“Marry me,” I blurted.
A gasp escaped her. Patrick was still playing over by the window, completely oblivious.
I lowered my mouth to kiss her softly. “Marry me,” I said again, a whisper this time.
“Bryan, I—”
I kissed her deeper. “Don’t make me say it again.”
“But—”
“Eilish.”
She let out a small, whimpering sound, a steeliness in her eyes when she finally responded, “With all my heart, yes.”
~The End~
About the Authors
L.H. Cosway has a BA in English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilisation, and an MA in Postcolonial Literature. She lives in Dublin city. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books. She thinks that imperfect people are the most interesting kind. They tell the best stories.
Penny Reid lives in Seattle, Washington with her husband, three kids, and an inordinate amount of yarn. She used to spend her days writing federal grant proposals as a biomedical researcher, but now she just writes books.
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Read on for:
Sneak Peek of Cross My Heart by L.H. Cosway
L.H. Cosway’s Booklist (current and planned publications)
Sneak Peek of Marriage of Inconvenience by Penny Reid (Knitting in the City #7)
Penny Reid’s Booklist (current and planned publications)
Sneak Peek: The Cracks Duet
(Available Now!)
BLURB
So, hypothetical scenario. An alien species comes to earth, but we share no common language. We can only communicate through pictures and sounds. At first, they see our art, hear our music, gaze upon our sacred lands and they’re dazzled by the beauty. But then, as they explore deeper, they see all the stuff we’d prefer to hide; the pain, the cruelty, the pointless wars.
If you were one of the aliens, would you let us live or wipe us out?
Heavy question, I know, but I didn’t always think this way. Life used to be simple. I was a typical city girl with small dreams that were big enough for her. Then I met Dylan O’Dea. He changed how I saw the world, opened my eyes.
For him, the sky was always falling. I guess that was why he achieved so many great things. The constant fear of catastrophe was an excellent motivator. It’s kind of poetic that he came back to me 16 minutes and 59 seconds into Beethoven’s Symphony no. 7.
Dylan showed me the crack in everything. How our world is a contradiction of beauty and ugliness. How we choose to ignore the awful and gloss over it with the palatable. How you need just a tiny drop of something unsavoury to create every great scent.
Pretty deep for a pair of teenagers living in a block of council flats in inner city Dublin, right? Probably. But that wouldn’t always be our lot. We’d part ways, cross oceans and come together again. Dylan would create perfumes adored by women across the globe and I would be the one who first showed him the magic of flowers.
My name is Evelyn Flynn and I’m going to tell you about the cracks.
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EXCERPT
Present: Manhattan, New York City, 2017.
“Ms. Jackson” by Outcast pumped in my ears.
I bobbed my head as I mixed a Cosmo, while my co-worker, Danni, shot me a grin from the other end of the bar. The crowds pulsated on the dancefloor and hands clutching crumpled bills vied for my attention. It was just another Saturday at FEST, the nightclub my aunt Yvonne managed. I’d been working here for two months, ever since I moved from Dublin to New York, and I had to say, even if the work was exhausting, the tips were phenomenal. You didn’t get tips like these back in Ireland.
Not unless you worked at a strip club.
And I wasn’t talking about mixing drinks at the bar.
There was also an energy to this city that I hadn’t expected. It really didn’t sleep. There always seemed to be something happening. Any hour of the day or night you could find a comedy gig, or an interactive theatre show, or even a doga class to check out. That’s right, yoga for dogs. Whatever floated your boat, you could find it here.
“What’s your name, gorgeous?” A suit asked from the other side of the bar. His tie was askew, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, and his smile was as loose as his tie.
“Name’s Evelyn, what can I get you?” I replied, professional smile in place. I wasn’t a big fan of being hit on by drunks, but such was life when you worked a bar.
“I love your accent. I’ll take a whiskey sour, on the rocks. Don’t think I’ve seen you here before. You new?”
I nodded as I put his drink together, doing my best to be heard over the music. Sometimes, I didn’t get why punters were so intent on conversation when you had to damage your vocal chords in the process. “Yeah, been here a couple weeks.”
“Really? Are you liking the city?”
“It’s a great place to live. Expensive, but great.”
“Well, if you ever need anyone to show you around, give me a call,” he said and handed me a business card. I took it without even looking at the name and slipped it in my pocket to dispose of later.
“Sure. That’ll be $11,” I replied and handed over his drink.
He took a sip as he slid me a twenty, then disappeared back into the fray of the nightclub.
“That accent of yours gets all the best tips,” said Danni, an annoyed slant to her mouth.
“I think that’s just because nobody can tell where I’m from. I’m ninety-nine percent convinced all Americans think Irish people talk like Leprechauns.”
Danni chuckled. “Don’t be so xenophobic.”
“You’re the xenophobic ones.”
“You’re bot
h goddamn xenophobic,” said Ger, the third bartender on shift tonight. “Now get back to work. I’m drowning here.”
I shot him an apologetic look and hustled to take more drinks orders. By the time my shift was done I was ready to keel over and expire, but again, I loved it. I loved the electricity of the city, the never-ending punters at the bar, the loud, deafening music, and the sheer exhaustion you felt at the end.
You could say positivity was my New Year’s resolution. Whatever my situation in life, I was determined to make the best of it. When I was young, cheeriness was my default setting, but then life had its way with me.
I could never see the sun, even when it was beaming in the sky.
Now my goal was to leave the darkness behind.
I was chomping at the bit for a nice, hot shower and at least ten hours of sleep as I rode the subway back to my aunt’s apartment in Brooklyn. It wasn’t the safest method of transportation, but since driving wasn’t an option it was my only choice. Though Yvonne and I worked in Manhattan, it didn’t afford us the luxury to actually live there.
Anyway, I had a bottle of pepper spray in my bag and a rape whistle in case I ran into trouble. It was almost 5am by the time I got home, took my long-awaited shower and crawled into bed in my knickers and t-shirt. The next morning, I didn’t wake until a little after 1pm, but I’d slept like the dead and was deliciously rested.
I could hear Beethoven playing out in the living room. Yvonne must’ve been home, enjoying her day off. Since she was management, my aunt usually finished work around the same time I started, so we didn’t cross paths too often. It was good in the sense that we both got our alone time in the apartment, because it wasn’t exactly what you’d call spacious.
This also meant I hadn’t seen her in a couple days. We shared the odd text message or post-it note stuck to the fridge, but that was it. I could smell her signature roast chicken cooking in the oven, and the scent made my mouth water. That was the problem with working until three or four in the morning, you always ended up eating lunch for breakfast.
Needing to pee, I pulled on some shorts and wandered down the hallway towards the bathroom, stopping short when I heard Yvonne had company. A deep, masculine voice replied to something she said and I frowned. It wasn’t like Yvonne to have men over. In fact, she was one of those rare fishes who’d always been quite happy to stay single. Her work was her lover.
She must’ve heard me emerge from my room because she called out, “Evelyn, are you up?”
Usually, I’d just call back that I was and go about my business, but I was curious to see who was out there. Running my fingers through my sleep-knotted hair, I wandered into the living room and froze in place when I reached the threshold.
As though consciously punctuating the significance of the moment, Beethoven’s Symphony no.7 arrived at its pinnacle point. I saw a giant wave crashing into the ocean, a volcano erupting rivulets of molten lava from its lofty peak, the sharp crack of lighting striking in the sky, as I came face to face with a pair of dark blue eyes I hadn’t seen in almost a decade.
Dylan O’Dea.
As I live and fucking breathe.
Actually, strike that, I wasn’t breathing. The sight of him rendered my lungs incapable of normal function. Then I remembered I was wearing the crumpled t-shirt I’d slept in, a pair of shorts that left little to the imagination, zero make-up and bed head. As a result, self-consciousness kicked in.
Then I remembered this was a man who’d seen me in every possible guise, from the good, to the bad, to the ugly, and I knew any level of vanity was pointless.
“Evelyn,” he said, standing to run a hand through his hair. He sounded so different, so mature and grown up. The last time I saw him he’d just turned twenty. Now he was thirty years old, born on July 15th, 1986. I knew it better than my own birthday.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed and I wondered if he felt just as off kilter as I did.
“Oh Ev, we’ve both been so busy with work this last week that I didn’t even get to tell you. I bumped into Dylan the other day. What a small world it is,” said Yvonne, while Dylan’s gaze never left me. Those wise, astute eyes took all of me in, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. Old memories stirred, of a time when he could cut me down or build me up with a look just like this one.
“He has his own perfume boutique downtown now, can you believe it?” Yvonne continued as she looked back at Dylan. “You’ve come a long way from St. Mary’s Villas, that’s for sure.”
He owned his own perfume empire, actually, but no way was I admitting I’d followed the trajectory of his career.
“We all have,” said Dylan, eyes coming back to me again. “Yvonne invited me over for lunch to catch up. I hope you don’t mind.”
I waved him away. “Not at all. Sorry I’m not dressed. I work nights. It’s good to see you though.” My words came out in a rush and his features warmed.
“It’s good to see you, too, Evelyn.”
I smiled awkwardly and fiddled with the hem of my t-shirt. Heat claimed my face and chest. His attention dipped to my bare thighs for second, then he sat back down on the couch and crossed a leg over his knee. “I can’t wait to hear all about what you’ve been up to these days.”
That was funny, because all I could think about was the past.
My mind rewound to twelve years ago, when positivity and cheer was my norm. Back to when I was just seventeen years old and I first met the boy who would flip my world on its axis.
The Cracks Duet is available everywhere!
Books by L.H. Cosway
Contemporary Romance
Painted Faces
Killer Queen
The Nature of Cruelty
Still Life with Strings
Showmance
The Cracks Duet
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The Hearts Series
Six of Hearts (#1)
Hearts of Fire (#2)
King of Hearts (#3)
Hearts of Blue (#4)
Thief of Hearts (#5)
Hearts on Air (#6)
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The Rugby Series with Penny Reid
The Hooker & the Hermit (#1)
The Player & the Pixie (#2)
The Cad & the Co-ed (#3)
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Urban Fantasy
Tegan's Blood (The Ultimate Power Series #1)
Tegan's Return (The Ultimate Power Series #2)
Tegan's Magic (The Ultimate Power Series #3)
Tegan’s Power (The Ultimate Power Series #4)
Sneak Peek: Marriage of Inconvenience
By Penny Reid, Book #7 in the Knitting in the City Series
**Dan**
Monday, 10:32 PM
“What did you just say?” I checked my watch again. I didn’t have time for this shit.
After ten on a weekday. I was running late on one of the rare nights I’d get to sleep in my own bed. Steven needed to get home.
We were at the East Randolph Street property, on the north side of Millennium Park. Our main office was downtown, but we’d moved the data center to the apartment building a few months ago. Since Cipher-Systems owned the whole building—and controlled all access points and ports in or out of it—Alex, Quinn, and Fiona believed the apartment building was the more secure option.
So here we were, in the apartment building where I lived, working late into the night, and I hadn’t yet had a chance to go home. Unbelievable.
Quinn glanced over his shoulder, giving me a look. “I said bring a Tonya, it’s a couple thing.”
I crossed my arms, returning his evil eye. “Tonya and I split.”
Quinn did that thing, that stupid thing where he waved his hand in the air like he was shooing away a bug. “I know.”
This was a stupid thing he’d been doing since we were kids and he didn’t want to talk about something. What did he think? That I wanted to talk about this shit? I needed to go. Now.
“Why do you want me to bring Tonya?”<
br />
“I meant a Tonya.” Again with the hand wave. “Bring a Tonya.”
“Bring a Tonya?” I scratched the back of my neck, not following. “You mean someone who looks like Tonya? Why does my date need to look like Tonya?” Checking my watch again, I rubbed my wrist. Steven hadn’t called, but I didn’t like being this late. Unfortunately, more and more over the last month this had become the norm.
“I don’t care what she looks like as long as she knows how to act at these things.” More hand waving. “Like Tonya.”
Ah. I got it. Okay. No biggie.
But if he thought he could give me the impatient hand-wave, then that was my cue to annoy him. “You’re going to bring up my ex-girlfriend and that’s all I get?”
“What?” His tone clipped, he glared at me.
“The least you could do is offer me tea.” I shrugged, sniffed. “What if I’m still emotionally unstable about the breakup?”
Alex made a sound, like he was trying not to laugh.
Quinn wasn’t laughing.
“Hey, I have feelings.” I mimicked his stupid hand-wave. “I was with the woman for over two years.”
“No, you weren’t,” Quinn grumbled.
“Yeah, I was. We hooked up just after New Years, and—”
“You weren’t together. You were passing time.”
“She had a toothbrush at my place.” I was pushing the issue for no reason, but something about his easy dismissal of Tonya pissed me off. It also made my neck itch. And my neck only itched when I felt guilty about something.
“So?”
“So, toothbrush residence-sharing equates to a serious relationship. Everyone knows this.” I didn’t know who I was trying to convince, him or me.