So my friends left. They moved to farthest reaches of the world. I'm devastated.

There's a knife in my heart and it's twisting and twisting and twisting, and so guess what else?

My teacher decides we need to learn multiplication.

Oh. My. God.

It's torture. It's mind-numbing. And everyone gets it but me.

I have to memorize numbers. Numbers.


​
What is the point? Why must she make us go through this agony of patterns that hold no meaning?

I sit at my desk, staring daggers at a succession of multiplication problems, while everyone's pencils are scraping busily on their papers.

Well, I choose not to do them, and instead I pretend to work and draw pictures along the side. Mrs. Marshall stands at the board, writing out the plans for the next subject, and she never notices. She trusts we're all obediently multiplying.

See how sneaky I am? See how smart? I managed to avoid Math. I think I'll try it again tomorrow!

As a third grader, there were things that frightened me.

Teachers.
School.
Grades.
A lost ball.
Brussel sprouts.
Stewed tomatoes.
Pink.
Sharks.
Kidnappings.

But the absolute worst, the one that kept me up nights and made me all kinds of sad was a $5 dollar word of which most third graders had never heard.

Transfer.

Yep, that's the word. The awful, horrific, life-altering terror that ruined everything.



​
It was a plague that accosted me, wrapped its cold fingers around my heart, ripped it out and crushed it into a powder.

My friends -- Liam, Grace, Georgie, Phillip, and Andrew -- were MOVING.

Because of a "transfer". Liam's job was making him move to Seattle. Half-way across the world where they didn't have Blue Bell or anything else good.

We lost our friends, our confidantes, our partners.

We took them to the airport. There were tears and hugs and I had hope that someone would come running at the last second to say they didn't have to go.

But that didn't happen. They boarded and left, and it was one of the saddest moments of my life.

My fellow redhead, Miss Grace, was gone. And her boys were gone. I cannot tell you how it hurt.

When we got home, my mom started a campaign. She stuck an envelope on the avocado green refrigerator door with the words "Seattle Fund" on the front.

I raced to my room and took every last cent out of my electric blue E.T. vinyl wallet and put it in the envelope.

I prayed and prayed and prayed we'd visit.

But...we never got there.

A life lesson that sometimes God says no.

All right my Happily Ever After friends, we've got Liz Crowe back with her newest release, WIN PLACE SHOW! It's available for pre-order right now and releases on March 28th! Let me tell you, this book sounds full of wit and sass and LOTS of steamy romance! Take it away, Liz!
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WIN PLACE SHOW: AN EXCERPT

Lucy dropped the phone to her side, wishing she could sleep another three hours to skip the whole still-a-tad-drunk part of the hangover. She had, indeed, made some poor choices the night before. Beginning with thinking she could slide back into easy, sexy time with Nate. She’d already more or less decided against it before he’d gotten there. But, of course, he’d shown up looking so flipping edible in a pair of dark jeans and a form-fitting purple polo with the Trifecta logo stitched where the little polo guy usually sat. Damn the man. He had no right to go around being so...hot.

He’d always been vain about his hair, something he’d discovered was a featured benefit about the same time he decided she no longer deserved his friendship. It was a wavy strawberry blond, cut just short enough so he didn’t have to use any products while it was full and tempting to female fingers. His eyes were so green, people accused him of wearing contacts to make them that way. Someone had obviously told him the trick about green eyes, that wearing purple made them even more striking.

“Some woman, I’m sure,” she said, lying flat on her back a few more seconds before hauling herself up and limping toward the shower.

Maintaining her anger at Nate was easy. She’d been ready to outright reject him. But when he’d shown up looking like some kind of a male model, turning every damn female head in the place, she’d stumbled. He was such a good dancer, not to mention a top notch kisser. So she’d gone with it, fueled by too much booze, ready to leap back into bed with him as if no time had passed since they last hooked up.

Thankfully, he’d given her an out by going all talkative. That was the last thing she wanted from him. So she’d walked away. And subsequently had a lot more to drink, hence her current condition, ergo she planned to lay blame for her pounding head and queasy stomach at his feet, too.

So there, Mr. Perfect.

The shower transformed her from being a woman with a hangover into a clean woman with a hangover and many regrets. She glared at her bloodshot eyes in the foggy mirror, hating herself for being here, in her stupid bathroom where she’d spent so many hours as a little girl and later a teenager, second guessing herself and her relationship with Nate.

She slapped on some rudimentary makeup, dried and styled her hair enough to pass her mother’s scrutiny, then stood in front of the dresses hanging in her closet. A line of matching shoes were on the floor beneath them. Several hatboxes stacked on the shelves to one side. The floral-patterned one made her headache worse, so she chose a light blue option, with a halter neckline, tight-fitting bodice and skirt. It was a beautiful choice, as they all were. One thing she could never accuse her mother of was shopping poorly.

​She slid her feet into a pair of cream-colored high heels, then pondered the hats with a sigh. When they were little, she and Mimi loved this weekend more than any other. The opportunity to put on a pretty new dress, hat, and shoes had been the highlight of their year. The hours spent at the track over the course of Derby weekends were some of her best memoires.

PURCHASE WIN PLACE SHOW

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09FH7BMCG
Universal buy link: https://books2read.com/winplaceshowromance
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60143414-win-place-show
Bookbub: tbd (release day is 3/28)
Trailer: https://youtu.be/Y0OGI-iGVTc (public on 3/28 but can be accessed with this link now)
ARC sign up (good through April 28, 2022):  https://forms.gle/mkNU7UFMxqjg2M3P8

​

BIO: LIZ CROWE

Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville living in South Carolina. She's spent her time as a three-continent expat trailing spouse, mom of three, real estate agent, brewery owner and bar manager, and is currently a digital marketing and fundraising consultant, in addition to being an award-winning author.

​With stories set in breweries, on the soccer pitch, inside fictional television stations and successful real estate offices, and even in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are compelling and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.​

You think I'm kidding. I'm not. You don't understand the Big Ideas that abounded from everywhere. I was never safe.

I think that was one of the reasons why I was always outside. It was harder for her to find me when I was running around the neighborhood.

Of course, that strategy only prolonged everything. I had to go home sometime.

So, Big Idea #10 happened...


​
As I waited for the life-altering reveal, I shook in my shoes. My knees knocked. I broke out in a sweat.

It's an Advent Calendar. She's hung it on the wall. It has a Christmas tree on it, and underneath are these little pockets with numbers on them. 1-24. One pocket for each day in December.

Inside the pockets are rolled up messages.

Oh...no.

Wendy gets to pull it out. She plucks Day 1 from its spot and unrolls it. She reads aloud...

"Let's watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer!"

I'm stunned. I didn't hear her right. Let's do what?

While Maria and Wendy cheer, and Bill tumbles after them as they run toward the TV, I'm left staring after them, my faculties turned to mush.

But this was no trick. Mama was turning on the TV, and a most beloved Christmas special was playing. This was not a trick.

I gathered my composure and strolled into the living room. I sit.

I hadn't been scared. Nope. Not me. I knew it all along.