August
Fog
A.L. Goulden
(August Fog, #1)
Publication date: August 1st 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Women’s Fiction
A.L. Goulden
(August Fog, #1)
Publication date: August 1st 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Women’s Fiction
Monica Waters has 31 days to choose between the love of her life or her soulmate. Juggling an unglamorous Hollywood career and a clumsy injury with an endless cocktail of antidepressants and dull daily routines, Monica moves through her thirties in a fog, avoiding the pain of her damaged marriage, broken body, and fragile mind.
Until he comes
along.
When emerging artist Quinn Matthews moves next door,
just coping with the downward spiral of life is no longer feasible. Their
powerful connection ignites a relationship that will tip the boundaries of
their perfectly balanced lives, sparking a mutual obsession and life-altering
affair.
Monica tosses her prescriptions, striving to be free of
their control, but with each passing summer day, dangerous secrets seep into
their quiet suburban life, inching toward disaster. Sometimes the truth is
hidden for a reason.
“This is a contemporary tale of a woman’s
struggle to navigate love and mental illness, while defining where and how she
will land on her own feet.” –Independent Reader
“A raw and honest look at the ugly secrets behind a
flawed marriage and the stigmas of depression.”
—
EXCERPT:
They meet
Fusion can happen when two objects reach an extreme
heat. When the blood boils, the same can be said of hearts. The connection can
excite and ache and torment, yet the demise of will goes unnoticed when the
thrill renders an addictive high. Monica Waters once loved getting high, both
literally and figuratively, but outgrew the juvenile practice of artistic
inspiration. She had responsibilities now, like a mortgage and an admirable
career… and a husband.
Antidepressants helped too.
When Los Angeles soared past eighty-five degrees in
April the unsettling promise of perpetual summer ignited tension across
freeways. Monica shielded anxiety with music and a fun car. Bob Marley had
eased an hour-long commute, also known as Thursday, delivering her to the
sanctuary of home until she slammed the brakes.
A yellow Nissan blocked the driveway with no owner in
sight. Her best friend owned the same vehicle but not with New York plates so
she glared next door. Sharing a driveway with Rebecca’s bohemian flophouse had
reached its limit.
Monica wedged her BMW into an ivy-covered carport at an
awkward angle and pried herself out, trying not to scratch her paint against
the fence. She mumbled a few obscenities when she couldn’t get leverage to slam
the door but squeezed past the filthy SUV, smoothing her long chestnut hair.
The tall Japanese-style gate that led to her bonsai garden greeted with Zen and
wafts of jasmine.
That’s when she saw him.
On the wooden staircase that wound up to Rebecca’s
converted attic was a man that shifted everything into slow motion. A man, that
for a second at least, she would follow anywhere. Her reaction defied rational
explanation. The guy wearing jeans and t-shirt carried a box but even his
muscular build was common in this town. Still, he had a gentle force of gravity
tugging like a current.
The back of his shaved head lacked noticeable character,
but his climb was hypnotic. She stopped breathing while her heart pounded at an
alarming speed. A beautiful tattoo engulfed his entire right arm with gnarled
branches and scattered leaves of an old tree. It rooted around the box and
swayed like a breeze as he moved.
When the gate slipped from her fingers, the slam jolted
her from the daze and he turned. She inspected her purse and fumbled with her
keys even when he paused near the top of the stairs, waiting for attention. She
rushed to her back door but couldn’t resist the draw of his stare.
His eyes were crystal blue and pensive under a low-slung
heavy brow. He stood confident like carved hardwood left unpolished with ample
lips, a strong jaw, and a rugged nose, but didn’t come off as arrogant or
boring. Her stomach twisted at his asymmetrical smile.
He was beautiful.
Flushed, she returned a tight grin and nod before
barreling into her laundry room. “Who’s the guy next door?” she asked, dropping
her stuff on the counter next to the deep sink.
Alex, still sweaty from work, gave her a quick kiss,
which was followed by the smacks of a powerful dog tail to her thigh. Her
husband’s own shaved head and brawny build still resembled an action hero but
his gray eyes lacked the dangerous edge that once made him magnetic.
“You mean the Kelly Slater look-alike?” He laughed. “Rebecca’s renting out the upstairs
to some artist. She says he’s bi-coastal… whatever that means. Pretty sure he’s
gay.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Did you see what he drives?”
She cocked her head. “So.”
“So? That’s what Robin drives.” He flashed his
hands.
“That might be the dumbest thing ever said. Did he look
at you too long or something?” “Hey, I’ve got no problem if he’s gay. He can
look all he wants. I’m just saying.” Alex flexed his arms and inspected
himself.
“Just because Rebecca’s a lesbian doesn’t mean everyone
she’s around is gay.” Monica reached to pet their rambunctious Lab Pointer mix,
Lacey. “I just hate that she and Julie split. I miss her.”
“Me too. I wish she won the house but Rebecca could
afford it.”
“Then why’s she renting out rooms?” Her words had that
petulant tone she hated with an unwarranted volume.
“I don’t know,” he said, flicking the counter. “It’s not
like we have control over our neighbors.” He shuffled towards the bathroom,
stripping for his shower along the way. She watched, remembering when that used
to send her running after him, but now he hopped around in his socks and
underwear looking more child-like than sexy.
In her ballerina flats, Monica was two inches shy of six
feet and two years shy of forty. Her curvy size fourteen worked in Hollywood,
the land of size zeros. Sometimes she resented being a giant next to tiny,
beautiful people because it equated invisibility, but she faked smiles in the
back of every crew photo despite the obscurity of an editing career.
She bent to give Lacey attention and propped the back
door open while Mr. Bi-coastal moved from his vehicle to the yard. The redwood
fence obscured his face but a childhood crush on Yul Brynner embedded an allure
to a nice shaved head. Staring like a lech though erased dignity, so she
mustered the nerve to make an introduction.
She stepped outside but an eruption of vicious barking
made her yelp. Two enormous Rottweilers flanked the middle landing on the
staircase, flinging drool over the fence. Lacey ducked behind Monica in
fear.
“No. No barking!” Mr. Bi-coastal bounded up the stairs. “I’m
so sorry,” he said, setting another box down. “I promise I’ll keep them quiet.
They’re friendly, I swear.” He drew an X over his heart like a seven-year-old
but his intense expression was all grown-ass-man.
“It’s alright.” She swallowed hard. “My husband had
lovable Rotts growing up.” Spitting out her marital status made her fidget but
his shoulders relaxed. “My name’s Monica.”
“I’m Quinn.”
He leaned against the railing that hovered above as if to shake her hand. “Did
you guys just drive across the country?”
“Yeah.” He squatted to pet them and she noticed his left arm didn’t
have visible tattoos.
“This is Sadie and Max. Once they know you, they’ll stop
barking.”
She moved closer, pretending to care about this new pet
relationship despite growls with
each step. “They’re just protective of you.” “Lucky
me.”
She tried not to stare at the unicorn but artists wore
gangly and pale with pride, escaping food and sun for months. This man nurtured
his body.
“Beautiful dogs.”
Alex stood behind her, wet from the shower in just
basketball shorts, but the lack of a Q-tip or something equally inappropriate
was boggling.
Quinn straightened. “I was just telling your wife they’re
friendly.”
Alex climbed the fence to engage their slobbery faces
up-close and flaunt an arm tattoo of a Rott named Bosco. Monica was new to
living with dogs but presumed they couldn’t recognize the image of devotion in
permanent ink. This king-of-the-castle act was for Quinn.
“Nice tat,” he said, squatting for a closer
look.
An immediate tit-for-tat and subtle competition
developed between them but Monica found herself comparing odd qualities while
they bonded over dogs. The pitch of their voices aligned and laughter became
punctuation. Their attributes mimicked one another but Alex’s head was larger
while Quinn ate leaner and worked out. They could pass as brothers but
something about Quinn upset her.
He was too close.
The two historical homes sat less than seven feet apart,
thanks to the lack of building restrictions in the 1920s. That proximity, which
had sparked numerous noise complaints, didn’t seem to bother Alex now, tickling
those beefy dog faces.
“Rebecca said you’re only here part-time.” Alex stepped
off the fence and crossed his arms.
“I’m just starting to show my work here.” He hesitated
as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to share more. “My agent thought it was wise, so
I’ll be back and forth a lot.”
She hated the two adorable little creases that formed
next to his eyes when he smiled. They were marks of experience. Marks of a life
lived.
“We should let you get settled,” Alex said, motioning
towards the box still sitting on the landing.
Quinn nodded. “It was nice meeting you guys.”
“Absolutely.” She cringed at her valley-girl tone and
bizarre wave given to dogs with inherently sad eyes. She beelined for their
bedroom hoping to erase that weird encounter from memory.
Author Bio:
Author of the “most realistic, often hilarious, and
wonderfully romantic” (Rosie Malezer, international best- selling author)
Chasing Swells returns with another emotionally charged and complicated love
story about a Hollywood editor struggling with depression who meets her
soulmate while she's married to her high-school sweetheart. This unique trilogy
takes you through one woman's mid-life crisis as she stumbles and falls apart
before realizing she's the only one who can put her pieces back
together.
No comments:
Post a Comment