BLURB
One volume, two steamy interconnected romances set in 1995 Seattle
Come to My Window
Hazel Bell has lost everything — her job, her apartment, and her future in Seattle. Now her whole world is a thrift-store wardrobe, a family of houseplants, and a stranger in the opposite window who knows exactly what to say.They exchange notes instead of names. Confessions instead of introductions. And somehow, the man she’s never met becomes the one person she can’t live without.
Gideon Sarkis knows the truth would end them before they ever begin.
He knows exactly who Hazel is. But she doesn’t know him — or how badly he once hurt her. The more notes they write, the harder he falls. But with his obligations pressing in and her options disappearing, their time is running out.
Some windows are meant to be opened.
But some secrets can shatter everything.
Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door
Ben Pedersen is a ghostwriter stuck crafting someone else’s thrillers when a misdelivered package introduces him to the mystery of unit 203 — and its elusive occupant, Heaven Lee.Lee is a software engineer burning the candle at every possible end, helping build one of the first online bookstores. She doesn’t have time for nosy neighbors. She barely has time for sleep. But the guy upstairs keeps getting her mail, and he’s funny, patient, and her dog likes him more than the UPS guy. So maybe one coffee not-date won’t kill her.
The neighborly arrangement that follows becomes something neither of them planned. But Lee won’t admit what’s in the misdelivered packages, and Ben’s writer brain won’t let a mystery rest. When curiosity crosses a line, both must decide what matters more: protecting their secrets or fighting for what they’ve found.
Love Next Door is two warm, witty nostalgic love stories about the secrets we keep, the walls we build, and the people worth tearing them down for.
EXCERPT
Hazel is parked in a chair in front of her window, arms around her knees as if she needs the extra support. Our gazes collide across the space between us. Even with the tiny smile she offers, she looks small and lonely, and it breaks my heart.
There is no note. Just her.
After a long moment in which we just share space, she unwinds her arms and turns to her kitchen table. Her hair falls across her face as she scribbles out a note. I watch as she tucks long locks behind her ear, and wish it’s my fingers instead.
Coffee shop? her note says. She’s drawn a steaming mug beside the words.
I nod.
And wait.
Her next note is unexpected. I saw you at the grocery store yesterday.
My stomach flips. Seriously? In the same building twice in as many days? I wonder how often that’s happened without our knowledge. Maybe we’ve been circling around each other for months, just out of reach.
And? She’d seen me and done nothing about it. Why?
A bit of her sparkle returns as she shares a small, sly smile. And I still think you’re incredibly handsome.
I chuckle softly, but I won’t let her slide. Talk to me, Picasso.
Her smile fades. Nodding, she turns her attention back to her art supplies. Her words against the glass are navy blue and stark. It’s been an invisible day. Ever feel invisible?
I don’t. My size and coloring make me stand out. I’ve never felt invisible, but I’ve never truly felt seen, either. Not until eye contact with my neighbor was all I had.
I shake my head before bending down to write the next note. I may not have seen you, but I see you. I make the last three words bold, going over the letters several times. Then I make a second sign. You shine, Hazel. Even in the dark.
Thank you, she doodles out, including leaves and buds around the letters. Then another. You have a way of helping me heal. A broken heart held together by stitches.
“Killing me, Picasso,” I breathe. That is the greatest compliment she can give me, especially knowing what I do.
You get me through the day, Hazel. Even before I knew you, you were the reason I smiled.
She puts her hand on her heart, and I swear I feel myself fall.
Smiling, Hazel writes another note and holds it up to the window. Do I get to know your name?
With those words, I hit the earth.
I refuse to let my panic show on my face. Thinking quickly, I scrawl out a desperate reply. If you’ve named all your plants, I know you’ve named me, too. What do you call me?
She visibly cringes, and heaves an exaggerated sigh I can see across the alley and holds her confession up to the window.
Fred.
I blink. As in Flintstone? Why?
Hazel is slow to reply, but I don’t mind because I have her pursed lips and another peek of her clavicle to focus on. Because you’re too sexy for your shirt.
It takes a few seconds to process her words. Then I burst out laughing, harder than I have in weeks. Not Flintstone, then. Right Said Fred. The guy with the truly obnoxious song.
Still chuckling, I glance down at my exposed abs, loving that she appreciates my hard work, loving even more that “too sexy” is how she thinks of me.
Despite the crazy day, despite the secret I’m holding in my heart, I make sure that Hazel knows that the feeling is mutual.
I let desire take over every part of me, slowly, like a trickle of light rain. I allow heat into my gaze. Leaning forward on the shelf, I let my muscles pop and eyes roam. I take her in as I share my more lascivious thoughts through body language.
For her, I strip myself bare, deeper than flesh. I stop hiding how I see her. And I drink down what I witness across the way.
A flower opening in the sun.
Author Bio:
Eve Kasey writes for a design firm by day and reads (and writes!) indie romance novels by night. Her contemporary romances balance swoon and steam while aiming to teach readers something new. She loves romance for the hope the genre conveys as well as the amplification of the simple truth that everyone everywhere deserves a happily ever after - however that looks to them. Eve lives in and loves the Pacific Northwest.Melanie A. Smith is an award-winning, international best-selling author of steamy romance with smart, self-sufficient heroines and strong, swoony book boyfriends with hearts of gold. A former engineer turned stay-at-home mom and author, when Melanie is not lost in the world of books you’ll find her spending time with her husband and son, crafting, or cross-stitching.
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Love Next Door: A ‘90s Anthem Duet Blitz
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