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“However, in addition to the usual fashion-led content, we always include a bigger picture feature. Something about improving the world we live in.
“Come on, baby, open up.”
What kind of voice did he use saying that? A baby- or puppy-speaking voice would seem very creepy. Yet, he doesn’t know her well enough to use a sexy voice or even his regular speaking voice. What I’m getting at is that he shouldn’t be calling her baby at all yet, until they’ve been naked together.
Summer wandered further across the lawn to the edge of the shadows where grass
“Farther” is in regard to distance in real space. Example: She walked farther down the lawn.
“Further” is in regard to metaphorical or internal progression. Example: She felt her heart move further along in its healing from loss.
“What was it like? The PTSD.” He looked out into the darkness. “Like everything was a threat. Like there was no hope or happiness. Just a constant state of alert. And I was angry. It took a long time to feel anything but anger or fear. But through that, I learned that we’re stronger together.”
Wounded didn’t have to mean broken.
Her gaze darted to the corner where the security camera blinked. “I think I know a place,” she whispered. They wound their way through the main gallery and down one hallway
Why don’t they just leave so that her career isn’t ruined when the rival-bitch grabs images off the security cameras or snaps secret pictures? The event is over. So back to her apartment!
It was too soon in a summer fling to start talking futures.
Really? Is she honestly telling herself “summer fling”? Even though she can’t see how they’ll make it work does not mean they won’t be able to become much more. Or, is that what she calls all of her romances because her name is Summer?
Which, by the way seems quite “hippieish” for such a serious journalist to name his daughter.
she would deliver to a church that fed the hungry and down-on-their-luck.
I don’t think we ever got a population count on the town. How does a small farming community have “hungry and down-on-their-luck” residents? If the population is large enough, I understand, but if it’s a tiny town, I am confused as to why a church would need a food bank.
“No one gets that guarantee,” Nikolai said it quietly. “Not even people who don’t have cancer. People die every day. People lose loved ones every damn day. And you think by not being someone’s other half, you can protect them from that? Bullshit.”
A collection of shoes that makes other women sigh with envy… A wardrobe by all the right designers… The right circle of interesting friends… My name on insightful articles perfectly crafted to tell you the stories that deserve your attention… I sit here in my apartment with its charming bay window that overlooks a neighborhood grocery store and barbershop in my Manhattan-approved this-season’s-hottest outfit with my barely worn Manolo Blahniks sitting on the floor next to me. My circle of “friends” consists of advertisers, designers,
This part should be the last paragraph before concluding with what her future holds. This is written all wrong. I don’t understand why the author did it this way. If I was Carter, I would have stopped reading within about three sentences and never given the rest of the blog a chance to sway his opinion of her.
where I bought my last pair of shoes? Who cares that I spend every minute of every day trying to write things that will make you buy something? A magazine, a beauty product, a fabulous winter parka. Does it matter that the shoes hurt my feet? Or that I haven’t spent a Saturday night doing what I wanted to do since college? It’s fine. Right? I have everything I want.
This is all blather. She should prove herself a real writer and worthy of Carter by getting to the point immediately.
John Pierce, Carter’s father, had been a man among men. He’d raised his sons on the tenants of integrity, respect, and service. And when he’d died, their community grieved with them.
We already know all of this. Why is the author recapping in an epilogue?
Plus, they should be discussing her new husband Franklin.
He knew his mother and her husband had an active sex life. The first time he met the man, he’d been crawling out of Phoebe’s bedroom window onto the roof of the front porch.
Again, something we already know. An epilogue is not a recap or flashback to what has been. That’s a dust cover blurb, not a wrap up of what years ahead have become.
“So, maybe we have some time?” Summer asked, slipping her hand back into Carter’s jeans. She wrapped her fingers around him, gripping his thickness. “What goat?” Carter breathed.
Instead of another hot and steamy moment with them, I’d have preferred an EPILOGUE that truly wrapped up unanswered questions or at least lead into the next book better.
For one: What happened to “Indulgence “ magazine when the lack of journalistic integrity got out? Did advertisers or employees bail?
Did the bitch Kira get any type of a kick in the ass from the universe? Did the good friend Nikolai shoot pictures for Summer’s online magazine at all?