Caught Up in You
think Eastbrook was the sort of place where one needs a tour guide.”
    “Well,” I reply, “isn’t that exactly what one would say if one didn’t know one needed a tour guide?”
    What am I saying right now?
    I don’t even know if I’m still speaking English.
    She takes a sip. “I suppose it is.”
    “Is that a yes, then?”
    She grins and opens her mouth to answer. I’m almost positive it’s a yes. But I never get to hear it. The front door jingles again and in walks the one and only Lia Smart.
    Fuck.
    I watch open mouthed as the girl slides off the barstool and runs right into Lia’s outstretched arms. They hug for what feels like an eternity. Enough time for the blood to drain from my face. For all sensation to leave my toes. For my slow, inept brain to make the horrifying connection.
    “Wait a minute,” I say, when they finally pull apart. “ This is your cousin?”
    The girl nods, an adorable jubilant smile lighting up her face like a Christmas tree.
    “Hey Blake,” Lia offers a friendly greeting. “How are you?”
    But I don’t return it. Because my mind is still reeling from the implication. “As in blood related?” I confirm.
    The girl giggles. “Yes. Her father is my father’s brother.”
    The floor suddenly drops out from under my feet. This can’t be happening. Of all the girls in all the fucking world.
    “So that would make you a...a…Smart?” I ask, still hoping this is all a terrible dream. Or just a really bad joke.
    I have the distinct feeling that Lia is following my train of thought. “This is Emma Smart. She’s from the British side of the family.” She turns to her cousin. “This is Blake Thomas. He used to work for me.”
    Despite the change in circumstances, I’m grateful that she left out the other details of our history. 
    Emma extends her hand and I stand there speechless and stunned for a moment before my brain kicks into gear and I reach out to shake it. “Nice to meet you,” I mumble, but the words feel stiff and swollen on my tongue.
    “Blake’s offered to take me on a tour of the town,” Emma says brightly, beaming toward Lia.
    Lia’s gaze meets mine. She raises her eyebrows and flashes me a conspiratorial smile that would put James Bond to shame. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”
     
    THE END
     

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    OUT FROM UNDER YOU
     
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Prologue
    Lia
    No one ever tells you the truth about love. It’s a massive conspiracy and the entire world is in on it.
    They make love look like a brochure for a tropical island vacation. All gentle breezes and warm waters and happy endings tied up with string.  
    But in reality, it’s not like that at all.
    It’s not quiet and safe and blissful. Or picturesque like a sunset on a postcard wishing you were here.
    Love is an earthquake.  It comes when you least expect it. It shakes your foundation to the core. It rips the ground clear away.
    Right out from under you.
    Everyone lies about love. Everyone hides the messiness away, sweeps it under the rug, and then paints it over with an idyllic portrait to fool you into thinking their life belongs on a movie screen.
    But I’m not going to do that.
    Some stories are just too big to be swept under the rug. They deserve the truth. The whole truth. No matter how imperfect it is. No matter how much debris and devastation are exposed to the world.
    Some stories simply have to be told.
        

One
    Lia
    “The confetti is too much. Do you think the confetti is too much?”
    I take a sip from my wine glass and study the table from another angle. The small four-top in the back corner of the restaurant is set for three people and decorated with plastic Italian vines, a vase of white lilies, and gold shimmery confetti strewn across the deep red tablecloth.
    The 2007 Sangiovese that I

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