Blurb:
Poppy’s life is in
shambles, or at least that’s how it feels. As Poppy struggles against her
decision to walk away from Michael, maid of honor duties, a bachelorette
cruise, new dreams, and maybe even a chance for love interrupt her summer pity
party. Will she seize the chance for a happy ending, or stay rooted in the
past?
Several months of
denial have revealed the truth. Michael can’t ignore his feelings for Poppy any
longer, but what should he do about them? He teeters on the edge of a life
changing decision. Will he disrupt his old life in order to create a new one,
or succumb to the status quo.
Author:
RosaLinda Diaz was
raised in a particularly magical section of Los Angeles; between the original
Disney Hyperion Studios and Snow White’s Cottages. The magic in the air and
soil gave her al-ready active imagination roots and wings. Wings that took her
gypsying around Europe, Austral-ia, and Africa, and roots that brought her back
to California to earn her B.A. at Pepperdine Uni-versity. She makes her home in
California’s Central Coast igniting the fire of creativity and sparking imaginations
with her creative endeavors.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Act of Contrition –
Poppy
The tiny box is warm
and comforting. I wait for him to slide the partition open.
“Who is the patron
saint of hopeless cases?” I blurt out, completely ignoring protocol.
“That’s an odd
question. Why do you want to know?” He asks, interest piqued.
“I’m thinking of
applying for sainthood. If that cause isn’t already taken.”
His big, booming,
belly laugh shakes the flimsy mesh partition separating us. “Tell me what you
have to confess.”
My eyes start to
water. I hate admitting when I’m wrong. Which is why I haven't been to
confession in ages. That’s not exactly why.
“I’ve fallen in love,
Father,” I say, picking at the fraying fabric screen.
“There is nothing
sinful about that. Go on.”
“He’s married. I told
him I couldn’t see him anymore, but we kissed, made out actually. I guess if
I’m going for total honesty here, we did a whole lot more than just make out.
Now I just feel hopelessly lost.”
He’s silent for a
moment. I’m not worried. Surely, he's heard worse over his years in the
confessional, right? I can feel a hot, prickly blush creeping up my neck.
“Love is one of God’s
greatest gifts. In fact, it is one of the fruits of the Holy Spirit. Your love
for this man, though displaced, is not sinful, I feel. However, engaging in
physical expressions of that love, on the other hand, is.” He pauses, probably
to let the full weight of my actions sink in, or maybe he wants the dirty
details. Either way I dissolve into the ugly cry. “Don’t cry. This is not a
place of sorrow, but forgiveness. Hush, hush,” he says.
“I do feel sorrow,
Father. This man, this wonderful man is woven into my sorrow by so many
threads. I can’t separate him from them, or I’ll unravel,” I say, sniffling.
“You are not comprised
of sorrow. Our Father did not make you to dwell in unhappiness.”
I know he’s right, but
all I feel inside of me is sorrow. It's as if I’m a one-sided coin eternally
landing face down.
“Now,” he continues a
little hesitantly, waiting for me to compose myself. I’m probably scaring away
the other confessors waiting outside. “No one is perfect, except our Lord.” He
pauses. “How long ago was this?”
“A few months, more
like three months,” I say a little wistfully, remembering the last time Michael
and I were together. When the priest speaks again, my mind is far away. I
barely register his question.
“Why did you wait so
long to confess?”
“Honestly?”
“That is usually
best,” he replies dryly.
“I wasn’t sorry...for
any of it.”
“Have you any plans to
see this man again?”
“No! I haven't even
returned any of his calls, and there have been a few that were really difficult
to ignore, let me tell you.”
“That’s good, about
not calling, I mean.”
“Do I get extra credit
for that?” I ask hopefully. He doesn’t answer, just chuckles. I assume that’s a
no.
“I have an important
question to ask you Poppy. Do you want to be a path of destruction for this
man?”
The gravity of his
words settle around my shoulders like heavy chains. Path of destruction? I
shake my head, unable to find the words, unable to contemplate being anything
but a source of joy and happiness for him.
“If you truly love
this man, as you say you do, you’ll only want what is best for him. What is
that?” he asks, then waits patiently.
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