My Sixties-era short romance, Seventh Heaven, is now re-released on Amazon and Smashwords


You can read the wonderful reviews, view the trailer and more on my blog.



Here’s the story blurb:
Lilah owns the New Hope Record and Crafts Shop with her friend, Val. Independent and free-spirited, they sell their handmade jewelry and pottery to tourists in their Delaware River town. Lilah’s only hangup is James, who bartends down the street. She’s crazy about him, but lately he’s been cold and distant. Turns out he has reason to be down--he’s had his ticket punched for Vietnam. Lilah makes him a lucky leather-string choker using a silver ankh--the Egyptian symbol of eternity.James is skeptical about its lucky charms, but warms to her again. For seven months, James is in Vietnam. He comes home changed, in more ways than one. Can Lilah show him that her love is all the luck he needs?
And an excerpt:
James stood in the open doorway. The choker gleamed from his neck. “I came by to say thanks.”
The distance she’d felt between them last night was gone. His warm eyes searched hers, reaching again for a connection.
“I didn’t know it was you.” She stepped from behind the counter. No more barriers between them.
He closed the door. “So. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. It looks good. It’s an–”
“An ankh. I know.” Something seemed to be holding him back, but somehow she knew she must be patient, and let him come to her.
“The Egyptian symbol of eternity.” She didn’t know what to do with her hands, and her breath was jagged. “Sorry. I mean, Ben told us. It really stinks you’re leaving.”
He ran a finger across a glazed jug. “Bad timing.”
She clasped her hands in front of her. “I guess it’s never a good time…”
He glanced up and flashed a switchblade smile. “I mean, I wish we had more time.” His soft voice rushed at her like the wind and billowed the sails of her heart’s rocky boat.
The air thinned, seemed rarified. “Me, too.”
He stepped closer. Time felt maddeningly slow. She wanted to run to him, fill her arms with him.
Instead, she crossed her arms. “I hope you’ll write me, if you get a chance.”
“Yeah?”
He was within arm’s reach. His gaze flowed over her inch by inch, over every curve and hollow.
The floor needed sweeping. And needed to be smaller. Or his steps needed to be more expansive. “Sure, I’ll keep you up on the local gossip. Send you goodie packages.” A lock of her hair. A photo of herself so he’d think of her every day. And night.
His eyes locked on hers. “That’d be nice.”
“We’re going to miss you around here.”
“You will?” The timbre of his voice rumbled inside her like an earthquake.
With his last step, he was so close her skin tingled with his heat. “No one can make a margarita like you.”
He fingered her hair, tucked a strand behind her shoulder. “Come back tonight. I’ll make you all the margaritas you can drink.”
In her head she was already there, sipping at a wide-rimmed glass, serenaded by Dylan in the background, James attending to her alone. “OK.”
“See you about seven, then?”
She smiled. “Seven it is.”
He backed toward the door, slowly, as if still taking her in. The silver ankh winked in the light as he turned to leave.

Thanks for reading!