The Bookshop on the Corner
Release day!
Who said that only real heroes could be found in fiction?
Sarah Smith had an addiction – she
was addicted to romance novels. The meet-cute, the passion, the drama and the
gorgeous men! Now this wouldn’t have been such an issue if she hadn’t been the
owner of the only bookshop in Ashford, Connecticut.
Ever since her close friend Lil,
from The Gingerbread Café, had become engaged she had been yearning for a
little love to turn up in her life. Except Sarah knew a good man was hard to
find – especially in a tiny town like Ashford. That was until New York
journalist, Ridge Warner stepped into her bookshop…
Love could be just around the corner
for Sarah, but will she be able to truly believe that happy-ever-after can happen
in real-life too!
Praise from Mia March, author of The
Meryl Streep Movie Club, and Finding
Colin Firth.
"How I wish this magical little
bookshop was around the corner from my house! Brimming with heart, hope, and
wisdom, THE BOOKSHOP ON THE CORNER is a wonderful novel about love, life,
friendship, romance, books galore, and finding that happy ending." --Mia
March.
Find The Bookshop on the Corner here:
US Amazon http://amzn.to/1lwwe12
UK Amazon http://amzn.to/1lGBvED
AUST Amazon http://bit.ly/1fTDwWW
Excerpt
Chapter One
Snuggled in the cozy bay window of the
bookshop, I looked up from my novel as the first golden rays of sunshine
brightened the sky. Resting my head against the cool glass, I watched the light
spill, as though it had leaked, like the yellows of a watercolor painting.
Almost dawn, it would soon be time to switch on, and get organized for another
day at The Bookshop on the Corner.
Every day I arrived at work a few hours prior
to opening to read in the quiet, before customers would trickle in. I loved
these magical mornings, time stolen from slumber, where I’d curl up with a book
and get lost inside someone else’s world before dog-earing the page and getting
lost in mine. Sure, I could have stayed in bed at home and read, but the
bookshop had a dream-like quality about it before dawn that was hard to resist.
I turned back to the inside of the shop to
watch shards of muted sunlight settle on piles of books, as if it were slowly
waking them. The haphazard stacks seemed straighter, as if they’d decided when
I wasn’t looking to neaten themselves up, dust their jackets off, and stand to
attention. Maybe a customer would stumble across one of them today, run a hand
lovingly across their covers, before selecting a book that caught their
attention. Though my theory was books chose us, and not the other way around.
The bookshop was silent, bar a faint hum —
were the books muttering to each other about what today would bring? Smiling to
myself, I went back to my novel, promising myself just one more chapter.
When I looked up again the sun was high in the
sky, and I’d read a much bigger chunk than I’d meant to. Some stories consumed
you, they made time stop, your worries float into the ether, and when it came
to my reading habits I chose romance over any other genre. The appeal of the
happy ever after, the winsome heroine being adored for who she was, and the
devastatingly handsome hero with more to him than met the eye tugged at my
heart. And I’d read about them all: from dashing dukes, to cocksure cowboys, I
never met one I didn’t fall for.
The sounds of the street coming alive filtered
in, roller shutters retreating upwards, cheery shop owners whistling as they
swept their front stoops. Lil, the owner of the Gingerbread Café across the
road, arrived, hand in hand with her fiancé, Damon. They stood on the pavement
in front of her café, and kissed goodbye, spending an age whispering and
canoodling.
I tried to focus on my book, but couldn’t help
darting a glance their way every now and then. Each morning they embraced
almost as though they’d never see each other again, yet they worked only a few
short steps away. It was as if they were magnetically drawn to each other; one
step backwards would draw the other person forwards. I bet they couldn’t hear
the sound of shops opening or cars tooting hello. They had their own kind of
sweet music that swirled around them as if they were in some kind of love
bubble.
Feeling as though I was intruding on a private
moment, I swiveled away from the window and padded bare foot down to the back
of the bookshop to make more coffee. My feet found the familiar groove in the
wood; the path was so well trodden it was bowed. The feel of the polished oak
underfoot with its labyrinth-type trails exposed around stacks of books was
comforting. It’d weathered traffic for so long it was indelibly changed by it.
Taking the pot of coffee to the counter, I
poured a cup, and sipped gingerly. Lately, I’d felt a little as though I was at
a crossroads. You know that frustrating feeling of losing the page in your
book? You didn’t want to go too far forward and spoil the surprise, and you
didn’t want to go too far back, so you kind of stagnated and started from a
page that didn’t seem quite right, but you read it a few times just to convince
yourself…that was how I felt about my life. A little lost, I guess you could
say.
Ashford was buzzing with good news recently,
love affairs, weddings, babies, but I was still the same old Sarah, nose
pressed in a book, living out fictional relationships as if they were my own. I
was waiting for something to find me.
But what if that something never
came?
What did heroines do when they felt like that?
Broaden their horizons? I imagined myself swapping Ashford for Paris, because
of the bookshops and the rich literary history. But really, I’d never ventured
far from my small town, and probably never would. My bookshop was a living,
breathing thing to me, and there was no one to look after it even if I did want
to do something spontaneous. Should I take up a hobby? I’d be the girl stuck
line dancing with the octogenarian. Instead of dreaming of the impossible, I
set about opening the shop, and shelved that line of thought for another time.
Find Rebecca here:
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