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NEW RELEASE: Life in Bits (A Lesbian Christmas Romance)

December 13, 2018 by Harper Bliss Leave a Comment

Life in Bits

Life in Bits: A Lesbian Christmas Romance is OUT NOW!

Here’s the blurb:

Can a Christmas romance mend a life that’s broken to pieces?

Eileen Makenna is a Pulitzer Prize winning photographer who has traveled the world for over two decades, chasing the next big story. She returns home for the holidays shattered by a life-altering event and facing the terrifying prospect she’ll never be able to work again.

When Eileen meets Naomi Weaver, a small-town girl who dedicates her free time to helping those in need, Eileen is entranced by Naomi’s zest for life. Can Eileen overcome her inner demons and troubled family relationships to let Naomi in?

Best-selling lesbian romance authors Harper Bliss & T.B. Markinson have teamed up to bring this touching age-gap love story to life.
—

Life in Bits has everything you’d want in a lesbian Christmas romance (if I may say so myself ;-0): an age gap, tons of emotions, snow, plenty of hot scenes, rather tense family dinners… and a happy ending, of course!

You can buy the book here:
– Amazon US
– Amazon UK
– Amazon CA
– Amazon AUS
– Amazon DE
– Other Amazon Stores

Enjoy!

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Filed Under: New release Tagged With: Christmas romance, collaborations, harper bliss, Life in Bits, New release, Novel, TB Markinson

PREVIEW: Life in Bits (co-written with T.B. Markinson!)

December 6, 2018 by Harper Bliss 13 Comments

Life in Bits

Life in Bits, the novel I co-wrote with T.B. Markinson will be out next week. Here’s a preview. Enjoy!

Life in Bits
© Harper Bliss & T.B. Markinson

CHAPTER ONE

Eileen attempted to raise her shoulder to secure the battered army-green bag, which was slipping down a little with each step. At the same time, she kept her left hand on the handle of the massive rolling luggage, which was jam-packed with the necessary pieces of her life. The rest of her belongings still resided in her London apartment, which Eileen hadn’t decided what to do with: keep or sublet.

This thought, along with the thousands of others racing through her mind, wrenched a deep sigh from Eileen. For forty-nine years she’d been a woman of action, but lately, she’d been immobilized by… what? Fear? Exhaustion? Betrayal? All three, perhaps.

Despite Eileen’s best efforts, the bag continued to slide precariously off her shoulder. Ever since the event and subsequent hospital stay, simple tasks had become arduous, much to her dismay and frustration.

“Eileen!” Julia, her younger sister by four years, smiled and waved as soon as Eileen cleared the final door of the soul-sucking customs area of Boston’s international airport. “Here, let me take your bag.” Julia reached for the shoulder bag, but Eileen pulled back.

“I got it, thanks.” Eileen ignored the bead of perspiration snaking its way down her face.

Julia’s gaze fell briefly to Eileen’s stiff right arm cradled right under her chest. A silent wave of anger surged through Eileen. Pity was one emotion she couldn’t stomach.

Wrapping one arm around her sister’s right shoulder, Julia took the opportunity to nudge the bag back into place on the good one. “How was your flight?”

“Delayed, cramped, and customs took over two hours due to the complete incompetence of allowing four international flights to land at once.” Despite Julia’s efforts, the bag slipped off Eileen’s shoulder completely. Eileen crooked her elbow to stop it from plummeting to the floor, but she couldn’t hoist it back into place without the use of both arms.

The rigid right arm remained in the same spot, where it’d rested the past three weeks.

Without saying a word, Julia eased the bag off Eileen’s arm and tossed it effortlessly over her right shoulder.

“I need a shower,” was all Eileen said. She was grateful to be relieved of the bag, but too strong-willed to say thank you out loud.

Julia nodded, seeming to understand. “The car’s this way.” She led her sister to the parking garage without talking, much to Eileen’s relief.

After stowing the bags in the back of the SUV, Julia settled behind the steering wheel. “Let’s head to my place since you don’t have keys to your apartment yet. I’ve arranged for the key exchange on Monday morning at nine. You can shower at my place and have time for a nap before heading to dinner with the parents.”

Eileen groaned, shoving her head into the padding of the seat.

“It’s not high on my list of things I wanted to do on a snowy Saturday night either, so don’t even start.” Julia cranked the heat on. “It’ll take a minute to warm up.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready… for mother.” Eileen looked out her side window at the BMW parked next to Julia’s vehicle. It was much like the type her mother drove. Her dad, a New Englander to the core, abhorred drawing attention to his wealth and more than likely still had his beat-up Ford with only three hubcaps.

“You’ve never known how to handle her.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’ve learned—to the point where we have a semi-decent relationship.” Julia, with one hand on the back of Eileen’s headrest, checked to see if it was all clear before backing out of the spot and heading for the exit ramp.

“Semi-decent,” Eileen mocked. “Mom has always been hard on me, blaming me for everything that’s gone wrong in her life.” Her mom had never been shy about reminding Eileen at every possible chance that she’d given up her dreams when she fell pregnant with Eileen.

“Please.” Julia’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as she guided the smoke-gray Range Rover around the tight curve of the parking garage ramp, the tires squealing on the cement despite the low speed. “She’s just as hard on me. Even more so when you weren’t around.”

“You didn’t have to stay, you know,” Eileen said, her jaw tightening, becoming acutely aware of her sweaty back from carrying one bag that didn’t compare to the weight of her camera equipment when on assignment.

Julia, seemingly unperturbed by Eileen’s tone, pressed on. “It’s not that simple. Mom and Dad are getting older. I have to remind them to take their medication. Mom can’t drive at night. Now that Dad’s retired, he doesn’t know how to entertain himself without driving Mom bonkers. I feel like a referee half the time. I have my hands full. I’m glad you’re home and can help some.”

Eileen rubbed her right hand with her left. “And you think that’s possible? I struggle to open any bottles and I can’t drive. Not just because my driver’s license expired two years ago.” Eileen sensed Julia’s quickly glancing at her immobile arm before returning her gaze to the road.

“Those aren’t the only tasks I need help with. You’re not useless, Ellie. Besides, I’ve missed my older sister. You have a niece and nephew who look up to you, but they don’t actually know you. It took… this for you to come home for the first time in five years. And I’ve lost count how many years it was before this visit.”

“Are you going to lecture me the entire drive to Derby?” Eileen yawned, setting the side of her head against the seat, fatigue settling in.

“Close your eyes. You must be exhausted.” Vivaldi was playing and Julia fiddled with the stereo volume to turn it down. “It’s nice to have you home. Really, it is.”

Eileen opened one eye and appraised her sister whose hair had grown grayer than her natural mousy brown since their last meeting. It must rankle their fastidious mother. That was one quality Eileen actually shared with her mom. Although, she’d hadn’t highlighted her own hair to cover the gray since the hospital. “I never meant to stay away for so long this time. The days just slipped by. How are Isabelle and Michael?”

“Nearly grown. Michael’s graduating high school this spring. Belle the following. It’ll be weird when they’re gone, although, I hardly ever see them now. Teenagers have little time for their mothers, apparently.”

“I remember those days,” Eileen’s voice was soft, infused with sleep. “And James?”

“He hasn’t changed one bit. Still works too much, but he does his best to be a great father.”

“Your children are lucky to have him. And you.” Her exhaustion made the words sound much more perfunctory than Eileen intended.

Julia nudged the volume up a notch, indicating conversation could wait for when Eileen wasn’t half-dead to the world. Ironic, considering, just twenty-one days ago, Eileen had thought for sure she was a goner. And since surviving, a part of her wished she hadn’t. Not in this current state.

Eileen, with eyes closed and seconds from nodding off, feared she’d made a mistake coming home. Would she become yet another burden to her only sibling, who’d been left keeping the family together when Eileen absconded at the age of twenty-two, so many years ago?

***

Her parents’ house hadn’t changed much since Eileen’s childhood. Still massive, with a curved, carpeted staircase to the right upon entering the house. Mahogany antique furniture, oriental vases, bronze sculptures of Greek gods and goddesses occupied every nook and cranny, making the house more museum-like.

“We’re here,” Julia called, stepping into the house right on Eileen’s heels.

Eileen’s gaze traveled the expanse of the black and white tiled foyer. A crystal chandelier shone overhead. In the center of the space was a round table with a flower arrangement and statue of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. What stood out the most was the absence of dust. The spotless, but cold space made Eileen long for her cozy apartment in London, overlooking a private garden. The home suited Trudy Callahan’s personality, however: beautiful on the outside, cold and empty on the inside.

“There you are. I was expecting you two twenty minutes ago.” Her mom’s perfectly colored hair, in contrast with Julia’s, once again reminded Eileen to make an appointment at a salon sooner rather than later.  Eileen took in her mother’s gray duster-length cardigan with a matching turtleneck underneath and black trousers. A necklace fashioned with tortoise disc beads dangled past her plentiful bosom, the opposite of Eileen’s. Her mom drifted across the tile, her arms out, pulling the much taller Eileen into an awkward embrace. “How lovely of you to visit.”

Julia met Eileen’s eyes as if persuading her not to point out the obvious. Not within minutes of her arrival at least. Her parents were fully aware of the reason for Eileen’s return.

Their father, Bruce, a dead ringer for James Garner, shuffled into the entryway in his dark brown leather deck shoes, Vineyard Vine plaid button-up, and chinos—his go-to outfit no matter the season.

Eileen smiled, tickled this aspect of her father hadn’t changed over the years, despite her mother’s harping he should dress in suits or whatnot, even for a family meal in his ancestral home. “Hello, Dad.”

His heartfelt hug comforted her for the first time since…

“It’s good to have you home,” his voice had a wisp of old man to it.

Eileen, stunned by how much he’d aged since their last meeting, leaned into him briefly and then pulled back, cognizant that her mother stood two feet away. “It’s good to see you.” She hastily added, “Both of you.”

“Would you like a drink before we sit down for dinner?” Her mom picked some lint off Eileen’s right shoulder.

Eileen turned her body slightly, protecting her right flank.

Her mother continued, “It’s so nice just to have the two of you over for dinner. The four of us, back together again.”

Julia, biting her bottom lip as if trying to curtail a brusque remark, said, “I’d like sparkling water. Sound good to you, Ellie?”

“Sure. Thanks.” A headache formed behind her eyes, and Eileen chalked it up to not drinking enough water.

Their father cheerfully dittoed, rolling back onto his heels, digging his hands into his pockets.

Her mother, with a wounded look, said, “But I decanted a 2001 bottle of Vietti Barolo Villero Riserva for this special occasion.”

“I’m driving tonight,” Julia countered in a tone that closed the matter. “And, we should have dinner sooner rather than later. I need to get to bed early.” Her stare fell on Eileen.

Eileen worried the fatigue from her travels would make it impossible to mask her mounting frustration dealing with her mom and a simple reminder, such as not drinking, only highlighted how much her life had drastically changed, piling on to her irritation. The doctors had been clear alcohol should be avoided, especially during the first few weeks of her recovery. Julia, who’d flown to London the moment she’d heard, knew all the do’s and don’ts for Eileen firsthand. Granted, a few weeks had already passed, but knowing the ever-cautious Julia, having a glass of wine to ease the tension wouldn’t be permissible. Clearly, their mother, not surprisingly, opted to ignore medical opinion and Julia’s disapproving glare. Or had her mom blocked out the knowledge of Eileen’s medical issue, since that would acknowledge weakness?

Their father feigned a yawn. “This old man prefers early bird specials for a reason.”

“Besides their being early, you mean? They’re cheap.” Julia said, laughing, patting his cheek. “How much is Maggie charging for tonight’s feast?”

He guffawed over the joke. It wasn’t the first time Julia had cracked it.

“Fine. I didn’t know I was surrounded by old fogies.” Their mom gestured they might as well retire to the dining room. “I’ll let Maggie know we’re ready for dinner, tout de suite. It’s not even six.” She tutted. “Such an uncivilized time for dinner. In Europe—”

“Hey, girls.” Their father cut off his wife. “If you’re American in the living room what are you in the bathroom?”

Both Eileen and Julia playfully groaned, responding in unison, “European.”

“Or Russian.” Her father laughed. Standing on Eileen’s left, he crooked his arm for his eldest daughter to thread her good arm through, and then proffered his other elbow to Julia. “It’s not often I’m flanked by two beauties.”

The French oak table with its parquet top had all the leaves removed, so it sat four comfortably. Usually, when the whole family gathered there were double the attendees or more if the far-flung members came.

This piece had always been one of Eileen’s favorite items in the home and secretly she hoped she’d inherit it simply for the parquet top. Although now, her mother’s crocheted tablecloth covered the surface. The lacy masterpiece had taken her half a decade to make and it only saw the light of day for special occasions. Eileen suspected Maggie had set the table, not her mom.

Each took their seat, Julia sitting to Eileen’s right and her father on her left.

Maggie, significantly grayer since Eileen had last seen her, and slightly stooped, served everyone a grapefruit, walnut, and feta cheese salad. She placed Eileen’s plate last, saying, “I made this just for you.”

Eileen smiled. “Thanks, Maggie. I haven’t had one since the last time you made it for me.”

Maggie departed and the Callahans tucked into their salads, no one talking. She returned briefly to pour wine, but her mom was the only one who assented with a curt nod. Maggie left once again.

Eileen grasped a salad fork with her left hand, awkwardly piercing a grapefruit slice and piece of butter lettuce.

“That’s new,” her mom’s gaze zeroed in on Eileen’s use of her left hand. “Living in Europe all these years has added sophistication to your etiquette. Maybe you can teach your sister. It’s never too late to better ourselves.”

Julia glugged her water.

“Have you been following the Pats?” her father asked.

“Not this season. Is Brady still their quarterback?” Eileen managed to get a walnut onto the tines of the fork, but fumbled it at the last second, only ending up with lettuce in her mouth.

He nodded, chewing.

“You know what you should take up while on vacation? Knitting or crocheting.” Her mother tapped the tablecloth. “I made this when I sat around waiting for your dance lessons or soccer practices to end. It helped pass the time and look at the final outcome—something I can hand down to one of you.”

Eileen blinked, and Julia blanched.

Her father cleared his throat. “I have an extra ticket to next Sunday’s Pats game if you want to go, Eileen. Julia still has zero interest in football and James said he has to work.” He placed his fork in the five o’clock position indicating he was done, although he’d only eaten a third of the salad. Unusual for the rotund man. Or had his eating habits changed over the years?

“Maybe. I’ll check my schedule.” Eileen, like her sister, loathed football, but appreciated her father’s diversionary attempt.

“It’s so hard supporting the sport now with all the documentation about brain damage.” Her mom sipped her red wine. “So many of them end up as vegetables. I always thought, Eileen, you would have made an excellent brain surgeon. Steady hands and wicked smart. Instead you chose to gallivant around the globe from one war zone to another. Running has always been your thing, which is ironic since I was the one who dropped out of college and gave up my dreams of medical school to have you.”

Peeved, Eileen had to marvel at how her mom had seamlessly worked this into the evening in record time.

“Where’s Maggie? I’m ready for the next course.” Her father patted his belly, eyeing the door.

Never too far away, Maggie appeared. She quietly cleared the salad plates and returned with the main course.

“Another favorite of yours, Eileen,” her mother said. “Garlic parmesan chicken with brussels sprouts.”

Julia’s thinning lips indicated to Eileen her sister had requested the meal.

Unlike the other plates, Maggie had cut Eileen’s chicken breast into bite-size pieces, much to Eileen’s relief. Julia nodded her appreciation, leading Eileen again to believe her sister had made a great effort to arrange everything this evening for Eileen’s homecoming. The wine kerfuffle probably ruffled Julia’s mother-hen ways.

“And in case anyone wants more brussels sprouts, here’s a dish.” Maggie placed it at Julia’s side.

After Maggie had left via the service door, her mom asked, “What are your plans while you’re home, Eileen?”

“Can you pass the brussels sprouts?” Her father asked.

Julia handed the dish toward Eileen, her face paling when she realized her mistake at the last second.

Eileen had reached across her chest to grasp the dish with her left hand, but bobbled it when Julia released her hand, spilling three sprouts, one rolling to the center of the table, leaving a grease stained path.

“Look at what you’ve done to my tablecloth. You’ve ruined it!” Her mom’s lips drew back into a snarl.

“I’m sure Maggie can get the grease out.” Her father dabbed the mark with his blood-red linen napkin.

“Stop that, Bruce! You’ll make it worse.” Turning her attention to Eileen, she said, “You did that on purpose.”

“W—what?” Eileen spluttered.

“It was my fault, mother. I let go of the dish too soon.” Julia plucked the sprouts from the tablecloth, putting them onto her own plate. “I’ll have it professionally cleaned.”

“Stop covering for Eileen. She’s had it out for me since the day she was born.”

“Jesus, Mother! You know Eileen isn’t home for vacation. She had a stroke and can’t use her right arm and you want her to crochet and berate her for fumbling a dish!” Julia’s chest heaved up and down.

Eileen, tight-lipped, looked to her father, then to Julia, and finally rested her gaze on her mother. Fighting back tears, she rose from the table, her napkin slipping onto the floor, and walked out of the dining room toward the exit.

 

CHAPTER TWO

Naomi held the hospital door open for Kelly, then closed it behind them. The cold November air whipped her in the face. Naomi reveled in its iciness. She was used to it. Whereas most people loathed the heavy gray clouds hanging in the air this time of year, she loved them, because it meant that the holidays were soon approaching.

She grabbed her friend’s arm. “Let’s do something special for the kids this Thanksgiving. For just one day, let’s try to make them forget where they are and why they’re in hospital.”

“There’s time,” Kelly said.

“Not that much,” Naomi insisted.

Kelly stopped in her tracks. “You do know you say the exact same thing every year.” She grinned at Naomi.

“Because I want it to be special for them every year,” Naomi replied.

“Are you sure that this year in particular you’re not overcompensating?” Kelly turned toward her.

“Oh, please.” Naomi rolled her eyes.

“I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you want to talk. Whenever you need to. Okay?” Kelly put a hand on Naomi’s upper arm.

“How many times do I need to repeat myself?” Naomi said. “I’m fine.”

“Jane cheated on you.” Kelly squeezed Naomi’s arm now. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine when you’re with me.”

Naomi shook her head. “How did we go from Thanksgiving plans to this?” She pretended to shiver and dug her hands deep into her coat pockets.

“I’m just trying to be a good friend.” Kelly’s gaze found Naomi’s.

“I appreciate that, but you bringing it up all the time isn’t really helping. I’m just getting on with my life. Spending time with the kids in there.” She nodded her head in the direction of the hospital. “Trying to replace all the negative vibes of a break-up with some positive ones.”

“Maybe I’m the one who’s still angry at Jane,” Kelly said. “For the way she treated you.” She shook her head. “And I must admit I’m a little baffled at your lack of utter rage.”

“Whereas I wish you’d have started this conversation while we were still inside,” Naomi said, even though it wasn’t the cold bothering her. “Obviously things weren’t meant to be between Jane and me. She wasn’t the one for me. That’s how I’m choosing to look at it.” She took a deep breath. “No one, not even my ex who cheated on me, is going to mess with my holiday cheer.” She shot Kelly a wide grin, hoping to lay this conversation to rest. Not that Naomi had anywhere pressing to be, or anyone waiting for her at home. She just didn’t want to talk about Jane any longer.

“Don’t I know it.” Kelly injected some lightness into her voice. “Naomi Weaver will have an outstanding Thanksgiving and the merriest of Christmases no matter what.”

“Thank you. Now am I allowed to get into my car?”

“Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kelly didn’t move. “And call me if you need anything.”

“Will do.” Naomi gave her friend a quick wave and hurried to her car, a hand-me-down from her brother. Every time she got in and it started from the first go, she considered it a small miracle.

On the way home, Naomi wondered if she hadn’t been too hard on Kelly who was, after all, only trying to help—even though she could be a bit subtler about it.

It was only a ten-minute drive from the hospital to her apartment and, instead of ruminating more about what Kelly had said, Naomi turned to Spotify, found the song she was looking for and put it on repeat. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” she sang along loudly, tapping the steering wheel with her gloved fingers, all the way home.

***

Naomi was still humming the Kelly Clarkson tune when she turned the key in the lock of her front door. It snapped open after one turn. Had she forgotten to double lock the door again? It surely wouldn’t be the first time. In fact, most days, Naomi simply let the door fall shut behind her, much to Jane’s chagrin when they were still living together.

“You don’t have to make it easy for burglars to get in,” Jane would repeat endlessly.  These days, Naomi could leave her front door unlocked guilt-free, without having to deal with some harsh words from her partner. Because she didn’t have a partner anymore.

When she swung the door open, Naomi noticed she must have left the lights on as well—oh, the things Jane would have to say about that. She quickly closed the door only to find, when she turned around, that Jane was standing right in front of her.

“What the—” Naomi tried to regroup quickly. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” Jane said. “I miss you.” She painted a soft smile on her lips.

“You can’t just be here when I come home.” Naomi held out her hand. “I’d like your key, please.”

“Will you sit with me for a minute?” Jane pleaded. “So we can talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. It’s over.” Naomi took a step back. She had no intention of sitting as long as her ex was in her apartment.

“Come on, babe,” Jane pleaded. “This doesn’t have to be the end of us.”

“It very much does.” Naomi brought her hands to her hips. “Now, I’d like you to leave and give me your key.”

“I’m so incredibly sorry for what happened,” Jane said. “You must know that. I’ve told you about a million times by now.”

“It’s not about how sorry you are.” While it was distressing to find Jane in her home unannounced, Naomi had no trouble at all playing this cool. “In fact, you cheating on me was the best thing that could have happened. For both of us. If anything, it showed us that we’re not right for each other.”

Jane scoffed. “You’re such an annoying glass half-full person.” She inched closer toward Naomi. “I know I hurt you and you have every right to be upset. But we were together for almost three years. Don’t you think because of that alone we deserve another chance?”

“I clearly don’t,” Naomi said coldly.

“I came clean to you. I explained why I did what I did. You know I never meant to hurt you. The whole thing didn’t even have that much to do with you.”

“You didn’t hurt me as much as you made me see that you’re not the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. Something I’m really glad to know.”

“Christ, Naomi. Can you be any harsher?”

“Can you be any more delusional?” Naomi took a step closer to her ex. “I made it very clear what I wanted from this relationship. I distinctly remember using the words monogamy and marriage. Quite often, actually. And what was your response? Falling into bed with the first woman you came across, and for what? To simply prove that you could?”

“I’m not the marrying kind, Naomi. I never, ever made a secret of that.” Jane shrugged. “What’s marriage, other than a silly piece of paper, anyway?”

“Which is exactly why you and I shouldn’t be together anymore.” Naomi stepped to the side. She spotted Jane’s coat hanging over a chair. She reached for it and handed it to her. “Please, give me the key and find someone else to string along. I’m sure there are plenty of women out there who don’t want to be married. Maybe… what’s her name? Petra, was it? Maybe she’ll be up for that sort of thing.”

“What I don’t understand,” Jane pulled her coat from Naomi’s hands, “is how, when we were together, you could even bring up marrying me when us breaking up doesn’t seem to bother you all that much?”

“That’s easy.” Naomi finally shrugged off her own jacket. She was beginning to sweat in the heat of the apartment. “I’m glad for what it has taught me. I know exactly what I want and, for a minute, I was fooled into thinking I wanted it with you. But now I know you’re not the one for me. You made that very clear.”

“You know Petra meant nothing to me. It was one night. We can’t throw away three years because of one night. We’d be so foolish to do so.”

“I see things very differently.” Naomi tossed her coat onto an antique armchair. “From my point of view, it was the best thing that could have happened to us. We weren’t happy anymore. Not like we used to be.” Naomi scanned Jane’s deflated face. She was starting to feel sorry for her. “We were just going through the motions. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have cheated. People in happy, fulfilled relationships don’t do things like that behind each other’s back, Jane. I think we both know that.”

“I disagree.” Jane’s bottom lip started trembling.

“We’ve been over this so many times now. You can’t keep rehashing what happened. As I said, and as we both know very well, it’s over.” It was hard to get the next words past the growing lump in her throat. “You need to understand that. We’re not getting back together. Not only because of what you did, but because we don’t belong together. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can move on.” Naomi scooted closer to Jane again. They’d only broken up a few weeks ago. Jane admitting to sleeping with someone else hadn’t instantly dissolved all the feelings Naomi had for her. She fought the urge to take her ex into her arms and tell her everything would be all right—because, for them, it never would be.

“We can still be friends, though?” Jane mumbled.

“Of course we can.” Naomi tried to find Jane’s gaze, but it kept skittering away.

“And you’ll come to my photo exhibition?”

Naomi did put a hand on Jane’s arm now. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Jane dug her hand into her jeans pocket. “Here’s the key. You won’t find me in your place unannounced anymore.”

“Thank you.” Naomi took the key from Jane and held her hand for a few seconds, just one last time.

“I am sorry,” Jane said.

“I know.” Naomi watched as Jane fumbled with her coat.

“I’m going now.” Jane finally looked her in the eye. It felt like a kind of very last resort. One last glance to see if all possibilities were truly exhausted.

“Bye,” Naomi said. She let Jane walk out on her own, then stood watching the door for a while after Jane had left. Break-ups were always painful because of the shared history and all the memories of better days resurfacing at the most inconvenient times. Yet a wave of relief washed over Naomi after Jane had closed the door of the apartment they used to share behind her, hopefully for the very last time.

In her heart of hearts, Naomi knew it was the best thing for them both.

<<End of preview>>

Life in Bits will be available on Thursday 13 December 2018

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Filed Under: Preview Tagged With: Age gap romance, Christmas romance, Co-write, harper bliss, lesbian romance, Life in Bits, Preview, TB Markinson

Preview ‘In the Distance There Is Light’

August 30, 2016 by Harper Bliss 30 Comments

In the Distance There Is Light

My new novel In the Distance There Is Light will be out in 2 weeks (and 1 day). Here’s a preview. Enjoy!

In the Distance There Is Light
© Harper Bliss

Chapter One

As they lower his casket into the ground, a part of me still believes this isn’t real. That he’ll push the lid off with those strong arms of his, pop out, and proclaim this was all just a really bad prank. I glance at the coffin as it settles into this grave dug especially for Ian, my Ian, and it suddenly seems to go so fast. Then, just like that, the casket is out of sight.

To my right, Jeremy can’t hold back a loud sniffle. To my left, Dolores, Ian’s mother, doesn’t make a sound. I stand there, waiting for the punchline to this awful, strung-out joke.

“That’s enough now, Ian,” I want to say. “You’ve made your point. We’re all more than ready for some relief.”

Then Dolores’ hand slips into mine, her fingers curl around mine in a desperate grip, and I stop believing in miracles. This is real. I’ll never see Ian again. Dolores will never see her son again. During my thirty years on this planet, I’ve only been to the funerals of people I vaguely cared about. Distant aunts and relatives I never got to know. I’d always thought the first big one, the first one to tear me apart at least a little bit, would be my granddad’s. But I’m burying my boyfriend instead. Well, my partner, I guess. Boyfriend sounds so juvenile, so inadequate for what he was to me. When I told him, in jest, on my twenty-eighth birthday, that I was now of a respectable marrying age, he took me aside and, in all earnestness, proclaimed that he’d given the subject of marriage a lot of thought but that he couldn’t do that to Dolores. She’d never had the chance to wed Angela, Ian’s other mother, while Angela was still alive—the change in legislation had come too late for them. Dolores, whose only child has just been lowered into a grave, and who is clutching at my hand with increasing desperation now—because who else is left for her to hold on to?—never struck me as the marrying kind. Perhaps that’s because I’ve always only known her as a widow. Angela had already died before I met Ian. I’ve never seen her with anyone else.

“It’s not so easy at her age,” Ian used to say when I questioned him about this. “Especially when you’ve been with someone for such a long time.”

Because I refuse to feel sorry for myself, I feel sorry for Dolores the most. First Angela, now Ian.

“She was ten years older than me and smoked like a chimney,” Dolores once said, while heavily under the influence of a bottle of Merlot. “Growing old together was never really in the cards for us.”

How different this is.

I give her hand a good hard squeeze back. Of all the people gathered here today, and there are many, I feel as though I can only compare grief with Dolores. Who else here—the artists Dolores knows, my extended family with whom I’m not close, my best friend Jeremy who lives every day like it’s his last—can possibly know the depths of despair Ian’s sudden death has caused? He was my soulmate. The sweetest boy I’d ever come across. The love of my life. And now he’s gone.

Oh, shit. He’s really gone. He’s not going to miraculously rise from the dead. The punchline is the cruelest one ever, because there is none. I will never witness his smile again, will never hear him fake a British accent because when he was ten, he’d spent a summer in Oxford once with his dad, and he’ll never again breeze into our apartment after work, always loud, always making sure I knew he was home, and joke, “What’s for dinner, wife?”

I lost him. Dolores lost him. Our friends lost him. Even his ex has turned up for the funeral. We’ve all lost him. The world is now without Ian Holloway. My world will never be the same again. And it’s as though only now the shock, the woolen cocoon my feelings have been wrapped in since I got that phone call, is beginning to wear off, and the pain that’s been lying in wait is starting to burrow a way through my flesh, quickly reaching my heart. In a panic, I look around. Ian. Where is he? The man who came into my life just at the right time. Who buffed up my self-esteem when it was at its lowest. The guy who, when I was about to spiral into one of my bouts of wallowing self-pity, would give me a sufficiently hard look and tell me to pull myself together—the only person who ever knew how to snap me out of that particular kind of funk. A person so seemingly uncomplicated, he managed to uncomplicate me along with him.

As I stand here, I curse myself for not pushing Ian harder to get married, because now I don’t even have a ring, or a piece of paper that binds me to him after his death. I’m just a woman, a girl with no claims to make. I might as well be no one.

I turn to Dolores and collapse into her arms. I don’t consider that she’s probably not strong enough to catch me, and that my own parents are here, probably eager to put me back together, but not even on a day like this can I shake off the indifference that has crept into my heart when it comes to them. Dolores and Ian had become my family. As of now, it’ll just be me and Dolores. She throws her arms around me, pats my hair with her hand, and breaks down with me.

Chapter Two

“Stop fussing,” I say, wondering what I look like to Jeremy, who invited me to stay with him after Ian’s accident. “I’ll be fine.” The funeral was four days ago and he has only left my side to sleep.

“Call me any time.” He stands fumbling with his keys, shuffling his weight around. “I won’t be home late.”

“Go do your fabulous thing, darling,” I say in the affected accent we sometimes use with each other, but it sounds wrong under the circumstances. Nothing has been carefree or frivolous since Ian died. Now there’s before, and after. Because I’m still alive. When he left the apartment that morning, I had no idea I would never see him again. Often, I used to watch him scoot off on his bicycle—his pride and joy—through the kitchen window. When I craned my neck at the right angle, I could watch him until he turned the corner of the street. But that day, I didn’t watch him. I was still in bed when he left. I barely kissed him goodbye, having pulled a late night the previous day trying to meet a deadline.

Jeremy sighs. “I don’t have to go, Soph. I can take more time off. If anything, Amy Blatch will be exhilarated by my absence.”

I’m not sure where I get the strength to get up and walk over to him, but I do. “You’ll have to go out at some point. You can’t always be here.” I’ll need to learn to be alone sooner rather than later. I put my hands on his shoulders the way he’s done with me many times. “I’ll be fine.”

“Why don’t you call Alex and ask her to come over?” He cocks his head, tries to look me in the eyes but his gaze slides away.

“Because Alex has her own life to live, and so do you.”

A tear sprouts in the corner of Jeremy’s eye. “Oh shit.” He inhales deeply. “I’m so sorry. I can’t stand that this happened. It’s just so unfair.” Words often repeated by now. Ian’s death is unfair, unexpected, devastating. It’s so many things that don’t make him any less dead.

“Go.” I really need him to leave. I don’t want to fall apart in front of Jeremy again—it’s all I’ve been doing the past week. “Bring me back some juicy gossip.” My voice is breaking already. I all but push him out the door. “I’ll be fine,” I repeat, though, of course, I won’t be.

Once Jeremy is gone, I take a deep breath. I listen for the faint ding of the elevator, wait for the doors to slide shut, then the tears come, again.

“Fuck,” I scream. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Truth be told, I didn’t want Jeremy to go tonight, but I also couldn’t bear to ask him to stay with me another night. I could see how restless it was making him. Jeremy is the opposite of a homebody. We’d be watching television, both with a large glass of wine in our hands, and he’d be fidgeting, his foot shaking with impatience, his glance always darting away from whatever we were watching. I could have stayed with someone else, but Jeremy is my only single friend and I couldn’t face staying with a couple, couldn’t face the inevitable signs of intimacy, of a life shared and uninterrupted.

So here I stand, in Jeremy’s starkly decorated apartment, alone. My eyes fall on a picture of Ian and me, a silly polaroid we took at Jeremy’s fortieth birthday party a few years ago. Ian’s cheeks are filled with air, like little balloons of flesh, his eyes bulging, and it makes me think of how hard it was to find a suitable picture for his obituary. Whenever a camera came near him, he would start goofing around. In the end, we used one I snapped of him when he was unaware of it. Ian staring into the distance, ruminating on something, his expression peaceful nonetheless.

“Get a grip,” I whisper to myself. I hate this version of me, this beaten down, tearful, whiny woman I’ve become. Even though I know I’m allowed this devastation, this weakness—Alex called it vulnerability the other day—I can’t identify with it. Every time I believe I’ve run out of tears, new ones show up, as though I haven’t already been crying for a week. An endless supply of tears.

I head back to the couch and drink more of the wine Jeremy poured before he left—we’ve made a good dent in his stash. Then my cell phone beeps. Convinced it’s Jeremy, texting me from a taxi, I sigh, but smile a little as well. Jeremy is exactly the kind of friend you need when something like this happens—something I can’t wrap my head around, let alone accept. Because he’s a bubble of a man, always ready to burst, to come up with an out-of-the-box plan, even though, of course, Ian dying has taken away some of his spontaneity and quick wit. The other day, I begged him to make me laugh, to tell me one of his outrageous stories I’ve heard so many times, but when he did, he couldn’t put the right inflections in his voice to make it funny.

The message is not from Jeremy, but from my mother, asking how I’m holding up. Well-intentioned, I’m sure, but even now I can’t read any words from my mother without hearing a persistent passive-aggressive ring to them. She probably thinks I haven’t called her enough, haven’t relied on her enough during these dire times. What am I even supposed to reply to that?

Knowing my mother, she’s probably walking around the house, thinking of ways for this tragedy to bring us closer together. But some things are just beyond repair, like our relationship. I can’t deal with this right now, although no matter how much my mother annoys me, at least it makes for a change from this relentless blackness that has wrapped itself around every thought I’ve had since Ian died. I don’t reply.

I push my phone away and grab the remote control. Maybe Netflix will bring solace. As soon as I press the button, I know it won’t, because how can it? How can televised drama possibly take my mind of the horror of real life? How can a sitcom ever make me smile again? Oh, fuck. I really shouldn’t be alone. The loss weighs too heavy on me, the pain is too much for me to shoulder alone in Jeremy’s living room. I reach for my phone again and call the person who reminds me of Ian the most, who knows him the best, whose loss is comparable to mine.

I call Dolores.

<<End of preview>>

In the Distance There Is Light will be available on 14 September 2016

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Filed Under: Preview Tagged With: harper bliss, In the Distance There Is Light, lesbian romance, lesfic, Preview

NEW RELEASE: The Road to You

May 31, 2016 by Harper Bliss Leave a Comment

The Road to YouWe are back in Hong Kong and The Road to You is now available! (I could really end this blog post here, but I’m much too long-winded for that. ;-p)

If you’ve read any of my books, you know I’m hardly the queen of the slow burn. My characters do not resist temptation easily. Yet, when reading a romance novel, though it drives me crazy sometimes (and has me shouting at my Kindle) I do thoroughly enjoy it when it takes forever for two characters to realize their true feelings for each other. So, I said to myself, what the heck, let’s try something new (yes, I have conversations like that with myself every day–usually when I’m riding my bike.) 😉 Then I did, and The Road to You is the result.

Early reviews have been all around positive, so let me share a few quotes:

“I always feel like I know Harper’s characters personally and can imagine myself interacting with them in the real world.”

“The story line draws you in, and the characters keep you turning pages until you’ve reached the end!”

“LOVE LOVE LOVE IT!!”

“Deeply satisfying!”

“As always, beautifully presented, written, edited and proof-read by the inimitable Harper Bliss. Another one to add to my favourite book collection. Five stars.”

“There would be nothing better than relaxing by the pool and sipping a cocktail or two reading The Road to You.”

Here’s the blurb:

Opposites attract… or do they?

Workaholic Katherine and free-spirited singer Ali have disliked each other since college. Fate, however, keeps bringing them together and the paths of their lives keep crossing. Are some differences in personality simply too vast to overcome? Or are some things just meant to be? Find out in this light-hearted but epic new book from best-selling author Harper Bliss.

If you love a deliciously slow-burning lesbian romance, The Road to You is sure to satisfy!

And it’s available from (only ebook for now, the paperback will be out next week):
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Amazon AUS
Amazon DE

Add it to your Goodreads shelf >>

Enjoy!

P.S. Bliss & Tell will be back next week. I promise!

 

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Preview ‘The Road to You’

May 19, 2016 by Harper Bliss 10 Comments

The Road to You

Hello from Belgium! Everything’s going well, bar a tumble down the stairs that left half of my body comically bruised (I can laugh at it now.) 😉 Less than two weeks before my next novel comes out, so I thought I’d share the first chapter. Enjoy!

The Road to You
© Harper Bliss

CHAPTER ONE

KATHERINE

I look at Grace and I know it will end soon. She’s just not right for me. I can’t put it into words just yet. I’ll need to suffer in silence for a while first. But I will tell her soon. Although, sitting here with her now, in her off-campus apartment on East Fourth Street, and seeing how the late afternoon sun catches in her hair, I foresee a difficult break-up.

She looks up from her book. “Pussycat,” she says.

Reflexively, I roll my eyes at her. “What?” I hate it when she calls me that. It started with just Kat, though I told her from the very beginning that my name is Katherine, not Kat, and certainly not Pussycat.

“Got your claws out again?” She smiles a disarming smile.

“I told you before,” is all I say.

“But you do everything a cat does.” She doesn’t let it go. “You purr when I pet you. You ignore me when I want you to look at me the most. And you’ve got very sharp claws. You even growl when you’re unhappy.” She rakes her fingers through her hair the way she does. She had it cut short this summer, before we returned to university, despite me begging her numerous times over the phone not to. When I saw her again after those long weeks during which she visited her family in Florida, I had to admit she had done the right thing.

“What did you want to ask me?” I ignore her comment, though I know she’s right. My claws have become a little sharper every day for the past few weeks.

“I just wanted to say something.” Grace’s voice is always high, in a pleasant way. “I love you, Pussycat.” She reaches out her hand and her fingers find my back, caress my skin.

“I love you too,” I say automatically. It’s not a lie. I love Grace. I never thought I would, but she wormed her way into my heart. But ten months together, and me as good as living with her instead of in my dorm room, have muted the passion I used to feel for her. Even though ours was definitely not a love-at-first-sight, thunderbolt kind of attraction. At least not for me.

Grace never questions my love. She’s not a questioning kind of person. She just assumes things very easily. Like me not holding it against her when she arrived twenty minutes late for our first date—a date she instigated. I hid it well back then.

We’re too young to stay together, anyway. I’m only a junior at NYU, she a senior. When it comes to romance, we’re mere babies. Though I do consider her my first true love. The first one that matters.

“You’re driving me crazy, Kat,” Grace says. “You’re looking at me all funny and you’re making me wonder what you’re thinking.”

I quirk up my eyebrows. It’s not like Grace to say things like this. Then again, it’s not like me to have the thoughts I’ve been having. I try to remember when I started getting an inkling of our relationship nearing its end. Was it when she spilled coffee all over my French text book and I lost it? Or when I spotted her chatting animatedly to another girl in her Women’s Studies class—a girl whom I know for a fact has had a crush on her all year—and I didn’t experience any pangs of jealousy? Instead, I figured she’d find a rebound person easily when things between us didn’t work out.

“I’m just nervous about this assignment. You know how much I regret taking French as an extra credit, but now I’m stuck with it and I’ll be damned if I’ll let it ruin my GPA.”

“At least Seabolt’s a looker,” Grace says, again not questioning me further.

“You think?”

“Do you have eyes in your head?” Grace replies. “She’s by far the hottest professor on campus. She makes me wish I had taken French.”

“She has these thin lips and pinched-together mouth. And her eyes have this eery light color. I just find her frightening, that’s all.” I’m also not in the habit of thinking of my professors as hot.

“There’s a rumor going around that she’s one of us. Marcy claims she’s seen her being very friendly with a certain female student.” Grace sits up a bit. Topics like these always get her extremely excited.

“Marcy would say that.”

“Why would you say that?” Her tone is snappy now. “I don’t get why you don’t like Marcy.”

“She’s just… too much for me. Too in-your-face. Too radical and militant.”

“Do you know where we would be without other people being militant for us?”

Here we go again. Grace spends way too much time with her fellow students. This kind of stuff is all they talk about for hours on end. Then she gets upset because I don’t like hanging out with her friends. Wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible, I hold up my hands in supplication. “Yes, Grace. I do know. I know all about it.” Damn it, that sounded way more condescending than I had anticipated.

“Whatever,” Grace says, and looks away.

I have to suppress the urge to up and leave. It’s Saturday and my roommate will be out. I could have a perfectly relaxed evening on my own—minus the laboring over the presentation I have to give in my French class on Monday. Choosing French was a frivolous choice for me, but I honestly believed it would round out my education well. I also didn’t want to be an American who only ever wants to speak their mother tongue.

I love watching French movies, especially older ones with Catherine Deneuve, and my first girlfriend introduced me to the music of Jacques Brel. I just wanted to understand, without the help of a dictionary, what he was singing about. I’m not one to make a decision without thinking it through and examining the results from every angle. I found zero downsides to taking French. What I hadn’t expected was that learning a new language seems to be a million times more difficult for me than for everyone else in my class. I stumble over every word. I can learn the vocabulary all I want, and revise the grammar all night long, but I’ll never be a fluent French speaker. I’ve racked my brain trying to figure out why—as I tend to do—and the best explanation I can come up with is that I simply don’t have a knack for languages. Which is why my major is Economics.

“What do you want to do tonight?” I ask, because I need to stop thinking about my French class, this assignment, and the prospect of Professor Seabolt’s disappointed glare.

“TV and takeout?” Grace offers.

I nod my assent, though I can easily think of a dozen more exciting things to do with my Saturday night, but this is what we do now. We stay in and watch a TV movie. Eat too much and drift off into sleep without even considering the prospect of touching each other.

The thing about Grace is that I don’t want to lose her. We know plenty of people who’ve remained friends after breaking up. With this as my objective, I’d better end it with her before she starts hating me.

ALI

“Ali, Ali, Ali.” Anna shakes her head at me. “Will you never learn?”

“I’m in college so I learn plenty every day.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“You don’t seem to pick up on what matters, though.” Anna scrunches her lips together. “How old is she, anyway? How long have we known each other? You usually don’t have affairs with women above twenty-five.” She shakes her head again.

I probably shouldn’t have told her. I wouldn’t have—as I said to Julianne earlier, I can keep a secret—but Anna mentioned the rumor that’s going around campus and then I guess she could just read it on my face. “I’ve decided to broaden my scope,” I declare jokingly. “She’s only forty-one.”

“Jesus, Ali.” Anna twirls a strand of ginger hair around her finger as she looks at me. Her coffee must have gone cold by now. “How did it even happen?”

I bite my lip and lock my gaze on her. “I’ve been told I have a certain… inviting kind of look in my eyes. She must have noticed.”

“Nu-uh. I’m not falling for that. There’s too much on the line for a professor who sleeps with a student for her to have just fallen for your pretty face like that. You must have pursued her. I know you well, remember?”

“Let’s just say I needed some extra guidance on the subject of the French Revolution. For instance, did you know that Thomas Jefferson was the U.S. Minister to France during the revolution?” I know I’m driving Anna crazy with this. She’s too strait-laced to get it. Most people are.

“Do you have an end game in mind?” Anna ignores my knowledge about this particular topic. “And what if the rumor spreads?”

I play with the gold bangle on my wrist. “My conscience is clear.” I lean back in my chair and rest my ankle on my knee. I get a flashback from last night, when I sneaked into Julianne’s house long after dark. I should be tired today, but I’m not.

“Do you have feelings for her?” Anna grimaces after taking a sip from her coffee.

Finally an interesting question. “I’m not indifferent to her, or what she thinks of me.” A slow smile creeps along my lips. “It’s just such a thrill, you know, to sit in class and watch her explain something while remembering the delicious noises she produced the night before. While nobody has a clue. And when her eyes land on me, which they always do at some point, to have this secret between us. It’s intoxicating.”

“For now,” Anna says. “But you can’t be so naive to think there won’t be consequences. You could get expelled for this.”

“No way.” Though my tone of voice sounds certain, a flicker of doubt runs through me. “Both my parents are alumni. And we all know how generous the Wests can be.”

“Your father would have a heart attack if he found out.” Genuine worry crosses Anna’s face. I do wish she would lighten up. It’s just an affair.

“Then he would have my mother at hand to make him better.” I drop my foot to the floor and plant my elbows on the table between us, staring deep into Anna’s eyes—knowing it will unsettle her.

“Are you rebelling against the establishment because of your perfect upbringing?” Anna looks away. She’s not really one for prolonged eye contact.

“Perfect?” I huff out an offended breath. “I dare you to try and be a West for a month. You’ll soon notice exactly how perfect things are in my family.”

“It must have been hard growing up in that huge house on the Upper East Side, having to walk all of two blocks to get to Central Park.”

“Dear Anna.” I grab her by the wrist. “You’re my best friend in this whole wide wretched world, and I love you dearly, but why are you on my case so much today?”

“Because,” Anna says, “I think you like her more than you let on and you might get hurt.”

I sigh deeply. “When was the last time you saw me get hurt by a chick?”

“That’s just the thing, though. She’s not”—she curls her fingers into air quotes—“a ‘chick’. She’s your professor. She’s in a position of power.”

“As you said earlier,” I retort, though I still fail to see why I’m getting the third degree about this, “she’s the one who could lose her job over this. She’s the one taking the risk. While I truly appreciate your concern, there’s no need to worry about the future state of my heart. We’re both consenting adults.”

“I’m just worried, Ali. I can’t see this ending well.”

“We both know you worry too much.” Anna spends most of her day worrying. About the cowlicks in her hair. About the A minus she got for an English Lit assignment. About what my parents thought of her when she came to dinner. About how her mother is coping upstate, even though Anna has been in college for almost two full years. “Are you coming to my gig tonight?”

“I don’t know. I want to, you know that. But I have to write an essay by Tuesday and I only have fifteen hundred words so far.”

“Fifteen hundred words? I’ve never written anything longer than a thousand words at the most. You try too hard, Anna.” I tap my fingers against her arm. “Come to the gig tonight and I’ll hook you up with Jennifer. She’s been asking for you.”

Anna turns up her nose at this. “If you want me to come out, you’re gonna have to do better than try to tempt me with Jennifer.”

“What’s wrong with Jennifer?” I let go of her arm and lean back again.

“Apart from the fact that she’s probably hit on half, if not more, of the female population at NYU, I know for a fact that the only reason she’s even remotely interested in me is because I won’t give her the time of the day. She’s immature and crass.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you really think?” I give a chuckle. Jennifer accompanies me on acoustic guitar when I have a gig, and she’s even more of a player than I am. I shrug. “It was worth the try. For what it’s worth, she’s a great friend.”

“Please don’t tell me she plays the guitar for you for altruistic reasons. Being on stage with you just gets her more pussy.” Anna states this so matter-of-factly, I burst out laughing.

“Come for me then?” I bat my lashes at her. “We’ll make a night of it. It’s Saturday. You shouldn’t be working on an essay.”

“Are you playing anything new? Because I’ve heard all your songs a million times.” Despite her petulance, I know Anna will be there tonight.

“We’ve been practicing a new cover. One of your favorite songs. But you have to come see which one it is for yourself.” Anna never fell for my advances either. However, after she told me off in no uncertain terms, she did take a different shine to me. We’ve been friends ever since.

“Who am I to resist the pleading Alison West look? Those hooded eyes, that crooked smile, who can possibly be impervious to that?” Anna jokes. “Of course, I’ll be there.”

I shoot her one of my crooked smiles, secretly glad that we never ended up in bed together. Because if we had, I might not have Anna Davis as my best buddy. Tonight, I’ll dedicate my cover of “Anna Begins” to her.

<<End of preview>>

The Road to You will be available on 31 May 2016

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NEW RELEASE: Far from the World We Know

April 15, 2016 by Harper Bliss Leave a Comment

Far from the World We KnowI’ll be the first to admit that, at times, it’s a little stressful to release a book every month, but more than anything else, it’s extremely thrilling! Refreshing Amazon every 5 minutes to see if it’s online yet. Waiting with bated breath for the first review. Watching the book (hopefully!) rise in the rankings… No matter how stressful, launching a new book is ALWAYS exciting! So, it is with great excitement that I announce the release of book #5 in my crazy book-a-month challenge: Far from the World We Know.

I can’t say that much about it without giving away too much of the plot, but here are some key ingredients: Texas, family, emotions high and low, steamy scenes, and a cowgirl. 😉

Here’s the blurb:

How far must you run to escape the past?

Laura Baker has just moved to the small Texas town of Nelson for a life of solitude and recovery after a traumatic event that has scarred her irreversibly. But her chosen isolation is difficult to maintain after she meets Tess Douglas, the charming editor of the town paper. Tess is determined to break down the walls Laura has built up around herself. As their friendship develops, so do their feelings for each other. Will Tess be able to get past Laura’s defences? And will Laura allow herself to love, and live, again?

If you love heartfelt lesbian romance, don’t miss this emotionally gripping read!

Available as ebook from
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Amazon AUS
Amazon DE

Available as paperback from
Amazon US
Amazon UK

Add it to your Goodreads shelf >>

Enjoy!

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Filed Under: New release Tagged With: Far from the World We Know, harper bliss, lesbian romance, lesfic, New release, Novel

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