Hannah Morgan's life is at a standstill. Her dreams of becoming an artist vanished with the sudden death of her grandmother and mentor. To appease her distant and disapproving mother, Hannah gets a respectable job at a high-end day spa. Instead of painting masterpieces, Hannah spends her days painting nails and giving facials to wealthy women. Her dreams for the future have become a hideous nightmare. And it just keeps getting worse. She catches her boyfriend cheating, loses her job, and has to watch from the sidelines as her best friend, Jasmine Blue, goes after her own dreams of owning her own salon. Then she meets Aaron, a working artist, and finds in him a kindred spirit. And, to her surprise, she finds the courage to follow her dreams. When circumstances beyond her control threaten to destroy both her relationship with Aaron and her dreams of a bright future, Hannah fears her mother was right-that some dreams aren't meant to come true.
“As a small child I dreamed of growing up to be a chestnut mare. I was terribly disappointed when I found out people couldn’t magically transform into animals but I got over it by immersing myself in the world of fairy tales and thus began my lifelong passion for reading and make-believe.”
Lora Deeprose has a B.A. in Drama with a minor in History. She was born in the small town of Fort Saskatchewan, Alberta; the middle child of five girls. In 2006, she and her eldest sister moved to a hobby farm in the remote Kootenay area of British Columbia and for five years had several country adventures which included raising chickens and goats, encounters with wildlife and wrangling the neighbour’s horses. Currently she lives in BC’s Eastern Fraser Valley.
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Top Ten List
1. Animal: Fruit Bat
2. Colour: Pink
3. Flower: Pink Peony
4. Food: Chocolate
5. Drink: Champagne
6. Place to live: in an enchanted cottage in the woods
7. Season: Fall
8. Place to hang out: Book Store
9. Hobby: Gardening
10. Weekend Activity: A nap on a sunny porch or hammock.
The night before, I was supposed to go to a movie with my boyfriend, Mason Connor. He had called at the last minute and cancelled because he had come down with a nasty stomach flu. I offered to come by his place and take care of him, but he put me off, saying he wasn’t very good company and all he needed was some rest.
My shift today didn’t start until one in the afternoon, so after putting together a care package containing chicken soup, soda crackers, a bottle of ginger ale, and my special blend of essential oils I called Flu-Be-Gone, I headed out on the bus to Mason’s apartment.
The bus ride from my apartment on the southeast side of the city to his Kensington apartment took about an hour and a half. It started to rain half way through the trip. It was a cold, hard, fall rain. If the temperature outside had been just a few degrees lower, it would have resulted in snow instead of raindrops. By the time I got off the bus and lugged the paper bag full of remedies the six blocks to Mason’s building, I was cold and soaked to the bone. I should’ve grabbed an umbrella.
I used the key Mason gave me last month and let myself into the lobby. I shook the rain from my hair and headed up the stairs. I was out of breath by the time I reached the third floor. I balanced the soggy paper bag on my hip and jiggled the key in the lock of his apartment door.
“How’s my sick boy doing?” I called out as I opened the door. Just as I stepped inside, the bottom of the bag gave way and the contents spilled to the floor.
I had chicken noodle soup all over my shoes and the glass vile containing my flu-be-gone elixir had smashed on the floor. The apartment smelled like a chicken with a head cold. I bent down to retrieve the plastic soup container, brushing wet noodles off my pant leg. When I stood up, Mason’s head appeared from behind the back of the sofa, followed by another, blonder, prettier head. Mason was obviously feeling just fine.
“Hannah, what are you doing here? Fuck—what’s that God awful smell.” Mason crinkled his nose.
His little playmate put her hand over her mouth and giggled, her bare shoulders shaking slightly.
I stood there with my mouth hanging open, looking back and forth between my boyfriend and his little tart. Then I turned around and ran. I flew down the three flights of stairs, banging my elbow as I pushed my way out of the lobby, and back into the pelting rain.
When I arrived home, I was frozen and my toes were numb. I stripped off my soggy clothes and jumped into my tiny, metal shower stall, turning the hot on full. But, with the iffy plumbing in my building, all I got was a lukewarm drizzle. I fumed while I prayed that by some miracle the water would transform into something approaching hot.
That stupid jerk. How could he? I’d been dating Mason for six months, and I thought the relationship was actually going somewhere. He’d given me the key to his apartment, for God’s sakes! By the time I’d dried off and dressed in my work uniform, the clock on the microwave told me I only had five minutes to catch the bus. I rushed out the door, forgetting the dinner I had packed for the day in the fridge. I caught the bus just as it was pulling away from the curb. On the ride into work, I alternated from wanting to throttle Mason’s skinny little, two-timing neck, and feeling like the world’s biggest loser.
That’s why poor Mrs. Weatherbee now looked like a sideshow freak and I was folding towels in the basement, praying that I still had a job. All because of a lousy guy.
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