Guess what! I started a new book. 😉
I didn’t intend to write this one so soon, but when I played around with book covers a couple of weeks ago and created the ultimate sweet theme, I just couldn’t put any other story before this one.
I think I even found the perfect title for the new book, and when you hear it, you’ll immediately know who the book is about.
There’s no official summary or blurb available yet, but you might like to know a few details about the novel.
- It’s going to be a camp romance, and when you turned the last page, you’ll be suffering from terrible camp withdrawals. For days…
- I aim to complete it at 90k words.
- The book is writte in first person POV, alternating between hero and heroine.
- It’s still written in the sweet, humorous style you know from my other books, but the heat level went up a notch.
- Even though it’s starring two people from the original Grover Beach Team series, it’s not going to be a regular sequel. Time has passed between the last book and this one. Everyone is older now. The kids grew up after all. So I’m calling it a spin-off, and it can be read as a total standalone.
- It’s about redemption, regrets, old love, new love, super-sweet kisses, ugly frogs and excited butterflies.
- The chemistry in this book will be high. On a scale from 1 to 10 I would assume it’s a solid 9.5 😉
- There’s going to be a sweet, graphic love scene (if I can bring myself to write it anyway. LOL)
- I assume to be done by March, 2016 – that means the release could happen in June or July
- There is definitely no cliffhanger. (You’re welcome!)
To keep up the tension just a little more, I’m not going to show you the awesome cover straight away. A snippet must do.
But I have a different surprise for you. The first official excerpt from the book.
Five minutes later, a strange feeling of coming home settles over me, as I stop at the end of the way and my gaze sweeps over the camp side. Just like in my memory, there are the three log cabins, housing up to eight girls each, fronts turned toward the picnic table situated in their middle. The birch tree next to the hut with a tiger over the door has grown a few feet since I last saw it, but everything else still looks like no time has passed at all.
The door to the Owls’ cabin stands open and the girls who stormed past me on the way here sit on the three front steps like they own the place. More memories come up at the view. Memories of playing games, forming new friendships, and living with an odd flutter in my stomach the whole summer.
A smile turns up the edges of my mouth. I shake it away and head on to the main office, which is some eighty feet to the right. The office isn’t a log hut but a tiny house with yellow plaster and a red shingle roof. Several people linger in the doorway, mostly parents waiting for their turn to get their kids registered.
Leaving my suitcase outside, I squeeze past them and find the person in charge. The woman with ginger hair behind the desk is bent over a list, obviously trying to find a particular name by running the end of her pen from top to bottom.
“Excuse me,” I say and lean down toward her a little farther until she lifts her head and makes eye contact. “My name’s Chloe. I’m supposed to meet with the other counselors somewhere around this place.”
Offering me a welcoming smile, she brushes her bangs out of her face. “Fantastic. The others are already waiting for you. Just walk to the back of the building. There’s the—”
“Sickroom, I know,” I cut her off, remembering how I once got my elbow scraped and had to have it tended to there.
She gives me a knowing look. “You’ve been here before?”
“Not as a counselor, but as a camp kid myself. A long time ago.”
“That’s great. You’ll find that nothing at all has changed over time.” She hands me a sheet of paper that she drew from a pink folder. “Please fill this out and turn it in later today. For now, just go meet your colleagues in the sickroom. My assistant will be with you in a few minutes and explain everything.”
“Okay.” I fold the paper and stuff it in my handbag, then I fight my way through the crowded room toward the back. Just before I reach the door, a shiver runs through me, as if someone literally tossed ice water at me, making the small hairs on my arms stand on end. Somebody’s watching me. Unease crawls up my body, from my toes to the back of my neck.
I whirl about, but there are only strange faces. Rubbing the chill from my arms that is totally out of place on a scorching hot July day, I make my way out and round the building. The sickroom has its own entry at the backside, facing the path down to the lake. Outside, leaning against the wall with one leg angled, the sole of his sneaker placed against the plaster, stands a tall guy with flattened brunet hair and a plaid shirt tied around his waist. He’s puffing out the last lungful of smoke from his cigarette before he drops it to the ground and kills it by rubbing it into the dirt with his toe.
“Seriously?” I say, lifting my brows at him. I know I’m not a big role model to the kids, and I’m not even trying to be, but smoking in a camp with thirteen-year-olds? Even I know not to do that—if I was a smoker, anyway.
He offers me a sheepish grin that moves the acne spots on his cheeks closer together. “Sorry,” he says and makes an effort to bury the stub, shoving dirt over it with his foot. “That was my last, I swear.”
For the sake of his skin, I pray for him that he’s right. “Trying to stop?”
“For the sixth time this year, yes.”
Now, I actually feel sorry for the thug who is probably my age. “Good luck with that.”
“Thanks.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Greyson, by the way.”
His long fingers wrap around mine, squeezing with too much nervousness. Either it’s the detox he’s afraid of, or this is his first time in a summer camp. Of course, it’s my first time as a counselor, too, but I can’t say that I’m antsy like him. Then again, I don’t intend to do much but getting a nice tan down by the frog pond during the next two weeks anyway. The other three watch-dogs can deal with the kids.
Greyson follows me into the sunny, clean room that holds a few cupboards and a dark green stretcher with a layer of thin white paper on top. A girl sits on the backless swivel stool and spins around. Her shoulder length dark hair is woven into two tight braids, the ends sticking in the air. That eyesore yellow T-shirt topping her cutoffs is probably a magnet for bees and bugs. Note to myself: keep a distance outside.
Her beam when she spots me is scary. She jumps to her feet and skips over, shaking my hand without me even reaching out. “Hi! You must be Chloe Summers,” she chirps.
And you must be Snow White’s happy sister. I bite back that remark and just nod.
“We’ve been waiting for you. I’m Julie Bloom. You’ve met Greyson already, right?”
I nod again.
“I’m so glad you look young and nice,” she blabbers on, to which I can only tilt my eyebrows. Quickly, she corrects herself, “Oh, I mean friendly. Last time I was at camp, we had a counselor who must have been hundred and five.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “It wouldn’t be fun to run a camp with a hag like she was. But you look like someone who knows how to have fun. We’ll have a great time, entertaining the youngsters with games, food fights, and what not! Don’t you think?”
Yeah…no. I don’t think I want to play tug of war with the kids. And pizza in my hair? Absolutely not.
Freeing myself from her hand, I walk over to the stretcher and sit down on the edge. “So, where’s number four? I was told there wouldn’t be a camp with only three of us.”
“He popped in and said hi a few minutes ago but had to get a few things from the office. Apparently, he’s the camp director’s right hand.”
“The red-head’s assistant?”
“Yes. And boy…” Julie makes dreamy eyes and leans closer. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she checks if Greyson is out of earshot. He took a seat behind the narrow desk and is now playing with a pen-like flash light—probably for a cigarette substitute—so we’re safe and she squeaks under her breath, “He’s hawt.”
“Number four? Really?” I whisper back, feeling a minimum of anticipation for the first time since I was forced to come here.
Her short braids flail as she bobs her head.
Good to know, because pimple face Greyson isn’t actually dating material. And spending the days at the lake with some eye-candy to check out sounds like just the right distraction to get me through the next couple of weeks.
“Oh look!” Julie’s chin lowers, eyes fixing the door, as she grabs my arm to share her excitement. She struggles to bite back her grin. “He’s coming.”
My own flirty smile falls into place, but I wait until I hear his footsteps inside the room before I push my hair over my shoulder and turn my head to the door.
A wave of coolness wafts off the guy on his slow stride in. His jeans, washed out and fitting loosely, run up a set of endless legs. They hang low on his hips, and from the look of his front I would guess he has a tasty ass, too. His tight white T-shirt wraps around a flat stomach. A six pack could be hiding beneath it. Or maybe even an eight pack. I wouldn’t mind either. And the firm chest that defines under the fabric makes me want to cop a feel.
Yeah, that’s definitely a body I’d like to check out in swimming trunks down by the lake.
My gaze roams up his strong shoulders to his face and— Holy fuck! I jump from the stretcher with a shriek. “Justin!”