This book in the Cindy Eller series answers a lot of those questions that have been hanging over our heads.
Here's a little taste of what you are in for. Remember: this is rough draft and subject to change!
And as always, this is totally copyrighted! No stealing, peeps, or I won't be able to share anything anymore!
The woman sitting in front of
me was beautiful, with golden waves of hair falling over her shoulders, nearly
the same shade as her amber-colored eyes. Dimples touched both of her cheeks as
she regarded me.
Those dimples were extremely
familiar. In fact, they looked suspiciously like the dimples in my boyfriend’s
cheeks.
That was probably because this
was his mother.
Or so she said.
The only problem was that he
said he’d never seen her in his entire life. His mother was dead—had died when
he was only sixteen years old.
Timothy stood across the
bakery at this moment, blending in with the crowd that had gathered to
celebrate my advent into the television world. He watched me with a frown on
his face as I approached the woman he had named as an imposter.
“Quinna Borden,” I greeted.
She smiled at me radiantly.
She honestly didn’t look a day over twenty-five. “I’m glad you remember me,”
she said.
I had only met her briefly
once before, but I didn’t think I would ever forget her.
“Did you come for more of
those split bananas?” I asked, naming the dessert she had purchased that night
months ago when she had walked into my bakery and asked if I knew where she
could find Timothy.
Timothy, her son. The toad of
my dreams.
The man that was staring at us
from across the room.
Quinna laughed. “Those bananas
were certainly delicious! I actually came by to see if you have heard anything
about my son.”
“Your son,” I repeated.
“Yes, of course,” she said,
smiling brightly. “My son, Timothy.”
It took all of my will-power
not to glance in his direction. If she couldn’t pick him out of a crowd then I
was pretty sure she couldn’t be his mother—even if she did look just like
a—younger—female version of him.
And Timothy was adamant that
she had no connection to him whatsoever.
“Does he know that you’re
looking for him?” I asked cautiously. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that
she looked pretty good for a dead woman.
Quinna tilted her head in
thought. “I wouldn’t think so,” she said slowly. “You see, he doesn’t even know
that I exist.”
Well, I hope you enjoyed this little taste! Keep an eye out for How (Not) to Kiss a Ghost-- coming out soon!
