Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Meet Me in Italy by Brenda Novak, which releases on April 7th 2026.

In the wake of her debut novel’s breakout success—and a very painful public divorce—Charlotte Williams-Jackson has something to prove. With her second novel overdue, she’s scrambling to hold it together. But her focus is rocked when she discovers that her childhood wasn’t as it seemed—and she has a tween half-sister who’s been orphaned in Italy.

Alongside her best friend, Sloane, and Sloane’s charming brother, Julian, Charlotte ventures to the Amalfi Coast to meet her sister. She would never turn her back on family, especially since this girl doesn’t have anyone else, but between her looming deadline and her entire identity being flipped upside down, it’s a lot. Determined to rebuild her life, Charlotte must confront the relationships she’s held dear—and the loss of those she thought she had but didn’t—forcing her to question everything she understood about herself and the bonds that shape a family.

Charlotte had packed a suitcase and moved back in with her parents, who lived in Newport Beach, while Cliff was gone. She wasn’t going to stay where she wasn’t wanted; it’d been his money that’d bought the house in the first place.

But even after living an entire week in her old bedroom, whenever she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, she felt strange, as if she’d stepped into a time capsule. Her parents hadn’t changed a thing since she’d graduated from high school and left home. Her yearbooks were stacked in the closet, the cluttered bulletin board above her desk held, among other things, a picture of her and Doug Green at senior prom, along with the dried-out corsage he’d given her, various notes from the friends she’d been closest to at the time, her SAT results, her acceptance to Stanford and her old book lists, which were extensive because she knew, in order to become a writer, she needed to be well-read. That she’d been able to achieve her dream of getting published by a major publisher and hitting The New York Times bestseller list so easily and early in her career certainly wasn’t typical. But she hadn’t marveled at the anomaly too much. For her, nothing had seemed off-limits. As far back as she could remember, the world had bowed at her feet. She’d always felt loved, valued, capable, happy.

Until now. Now the world had, without warning, become completely hostile. The press was having a field day with her divorce (“Clifford Jackson Kicks out Queen of the ‘Sports Romance’ ”; “NBA Star Leaves ‘Queen of Sports Romance’”; “ ‘Sports Romance’ Author Unable to Create Her Own Happily-Ever-After”; “Clifford Jackson Giving up on ‘Storybook’Romance”), so she wasn’t just brokenhearted; she felt like a laughingstock. It didn’t help that the friends she’d made since marrying Cliff had become unresponsive to her; apparently, they’d decided they’d rather remain friends with him. She didn’t even know if she’d have the emotional wherewithal to finish the second book on her contract, so her career might go the same way as her marriage. The manuscript was due in just three short months, and because she’d been so intimidated by the success of her first book, so scared she wouldn’t be able to top it, she’d started five different stories only to abandon them all.

Now the fear was worse than ever—overwhelming, paralyzing, suffocating. The fact that Cliff was responsible for so much of the word of mouth she’d received when Playing for Keeps was released made her feel like an imposter, as if she hadn’t deserved what she’d received in the first place, and her second book would reveal just how inept a writer she really was.

She pulled the blankets over her head to block out the light. Her mother had come in an hour or so earlier and put up the shades. Penny was making lunch—or dinner; Charlotte couldn’t keep track. She just knew that her mother wanted her to come down to eat.

But she had no desire for food. She’d been in bed since she came home and still couldn’t summon the strength to get up. Everything she’d built since she’d left this room eleven years ago had been leveled—or soon would be.

She heard someone at the door but didn’t pull the blankets down so she could see who it was. Her father, a hedge fund manager, didn’t usually get home until six, and it was somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, somewhere in the middle of the week, so she was fairly certain he was still gone. It had to be her mother, who’d been a tennis instructor at the local club before her health had started to deteriorate. The longer Charlotte stayed in bed, the more Penny began to hover. She said encouraging things, offered to take Charlotte shopping or to lunch. She’d even mentioned getting her a good therapist. Her family was wealthy, so they could afford that kind of help. But right now, even those baby steps seemed too daunting.

“You’re not coming?” her mother said.

“I’m not hungry,” she replied.

The bed dipped as Penny sat beside her and tugged the covers down. “That can’t be true,” she said as she smoothed the hair out of Charlotte’s face. “You’ve hardly eaten for days.”

“I’d rather sleep.”

Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s all you’ve been doing!”

“I must be catching up,” she muttered.

Penny’s cool, gentle hand cupped her face. “What about your book, honey?”

Just the mention of her book caused fear to burn like acid in Charlotte’s stomach. “What about it?”

“Isn’t it due soon? Don’t you need to write?”

“I’ve got time,” she lied.

Her mother studied her with concern. “I’m so worried about you.”

Charlotte curved her lips into as close an approximation of a smile as she could manage. “I’ll be okay.”

“I can’t believe Clifford would do this to you,” she responded.

“You . . . you haven’t heard from him, have you?”

The first few days after she’d moved back in with her parents, Charlotte had checked her phone religiously. She couldn’t help hoping Cliff would change his mind, feel some regret. She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d been a loving, devoted wife. Surely, he’d realize he was tossing away someone who was important to him, someone he missed and needed in his life.

But no . . . She winced as she remembered how torturous it’d become as the days passed and she received no calls from him—no messages, either. The Lakers had managed to beat the Knicks, and he’d scored over thirty points. She’d been hoping he’d do well because that usually made him eager to celebrate with her. But he still didn’t call.

Then she’d made the mistake of googling his name to see what was going on in his life—or what the press was reporting about it, anyway—and came across a headline that’d nearly made her throw up: “Clifford Jackson Seen in Vegas with Model Marija Vidmar.” There’d been a picture to corroborate the brief sighting—of her husband holding hands with the tallest, most beautiful woman she’d ever seen—and she hadn’t picked up her phone since. For all she knew, the battery was as dead as her marriage.

“I haven’t heard from him,” she mumbled.

“Then you need to let him go.”

“I know that.” Instant annoyance had caused her to speak too sharply, but if it was that easy to get over Cliff, she would’ve done it already.

“Time heals all wounds,” her mother said, attempting to soothe her, but it was difficult to believe anything could help. Charlotte could barely open her eyes they were so red and swollen from the crying jags that would hit her out of nowhere.

Her mother stood, then bent over to gather the balls of tissue that’d avalanched onto the carpet from the nightstand. “You have to keep up your strength. Come on down and at least try to eat something.”

Charlotte allowed her heavy eyelids to close. “Not tonight.”

“But I have a surprise for you.” Penny was clearly disappointed. “Something guaranteed to cheer you up.”

She forced her eyes open again. Unless her mother could put her marriage back together, nothing would cheer her up. “Mac and cheese won’t do it this time, Mom,” she said. “But Iappreciate the effort.”

“It’s Julian,” Penny said.

Charlotte shoved herself into a sitting position. “Davis?”

Lines of confusion creased her mother’s forehead. “Do you know another Julian?”

She didn’t, but she hadn’t heard from her best friend’s twin brother in years. He’d hung out with them a lot in high school. But when they graduated, they all went off to different colleges. He’d gone to a school on the East Coast to play lacrosse, found a girlfriend and gotten busy. She’d only remained in contact with Sloane. The last she’d heard about Julian, which was a couple of years ago, he’d become a landscape photographer who traveled extensively for work but was now based out of Moab, Utah, where he’d opened his own gallery, and he’d become engaged to some woman who worked for one of the travel magazines that featured his photographs. She probably would’ve heard more about him, but Cliff hadn’t liked Sloane, and Sloane hadn’t liked Cliff, so even her relationship with Julian’s sister had been mostly nonexistent in recent years, especially once Sloane got married and moved to Seattle just after telling Charlotte about Julian’s engagement. “What does he want?” she asked her mother.

“Didn’t say. He just came to the door to see if you were home, and I invited him to join us for dinner.”

She groaned. “You didn’t . . .”

“Why wouldn’t I?” her mother replied. “You’ve always loved Julian. I’ve always loved Julian. I was happy to see him, especially because I thought . . . Well, I thought he might be able to help me pull you out of this . . . funk.”

Her sinuses were plugged, making her voice sound nasal. “I’m going through a divorce. It’s not a funk. Anyway, look at me.” She grabbed a tissue and held it up before blowing her nose, which she’d wiped so often in the past week she could’ve played Rudolph in a Christmas show. “I haven’t showered for three days. I don’t want him or anyone else to see me like this.”

“Then take a few minutes to clean up,” she said. “You’ll find us in the kitchen when you’re done.”

“I can’t face getting ready! Tell him I don’t feel well,” she said to her mother’s retreating form and flopped back down on the pillows.

Penny turned at the door. “Charlotte, please. Staying in bed isn’t doing you any good.”

It was better than allowing others to witness the depth of her devastation. That was probably what Julian had come to see; it was what everyone on the internet was speculating about. Millions of strangers were talking about her online, probably dying to catch a glimpse of her. If someone happened to take a snapshot and post it on the internet, she could only imagine the number of views it would get . . .

The world was no longer safe. “I’ll eat later,” she said.

“You’ve been putting me off for days.” Her mother gestured at the rumpled bed. “I can’t see you like this anymore. If you won’t come down, I’ll call him up.”

Panic gripped Charlotte, causing her to bolt back into a sitting position. “No!”

Her mother didn’t even hesitate. “Come on up, Julian!” she yelled in a fatalistic voice.

The sudden movement had made Charlotte’s head swim. She put a hand to her right temple. “Mom!” she said, her voice a harsh whisper.

Penny winced as she glanced back, but she was far more determined than Charlotte had expected. When Julian came, she merely turned to the side to make room for him to get past her in the doorway before she left.

“You look good,” he said sarcastically.

All too aware of her greasy hair, swollen eyes, red nose and blotchy face, Charlotte sniffed. “That’s the first thing you’re going to say to me?”

“Pretty hard to ignore the obvious.”

Unfortunately, he looked incredible. Of course that would be the case. These days, everything seemed to be engineered to make her feel bad. No longer the scrawny late bloomer he’d been in high school, with terrible acne and braces on his teeth, he had a clear, unblemished complexion, broad shoulders and well-defined biceps. And the white cotton of his T-shirt contrasted nicely with his dark tan and cornflower-blue eyes. Those long, golden eyelashes matched the lighter streaks in his hair and had always been attractive, but now they were positively dreamy.

She preferred the tall, lanky physique of her husband—soon-to-be-ex-husband—she told herself. She’d always liked basketball players. But she could see how some women would find Julian’s stockier frame appealing. He looked incredibly strong.

“You don’t feel even the least bit sorry for me?” she said.

“Looks like you’ve got that covered.” A crooked smile coupled with a wink softened his words, but she took exception to them all the same.

“My husband just . . . My husband dropped me without any warning and hasn’t looked back since, Jules,” she said, easily and automatically falling back on the nickname his closest friends and family had always used. “This was the man I was hoping to have a family with—the man I was hoping to grow old with.”

His muscular shoulders lifted in a shrug. “He’s also the man who doesn’t deserve you. Good riddance to Clifford Jackson—that’s what I say.”

“Because he’s a professional athlete?”

“Because he’s a selfish bastard.”

She stiffened in surprise. “How would you know?”

“It’s obvious from the way he plays ball.” He opened the doors to her closet and stepped inside.

“What are you doing?” It looked like he was rifling through her suitcase, which was lying open on the floor. She hadn’t bothered to unpack. Why would she? She’d been hoping Cliff would invite her back to the gorgeous Malibu mansion she used to call home.

“Finding something for you to wear,” he replied.

“I’m not coming down to dinner,” she reiterated.

“I know.” There was a plop as he tossed some of her clothes to the side. “We’re going out.”

“What?”

His voice drifted to her, once again, from inside the closet. “You heard me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she argued.

He took a moment to poke his head out. “It might look weird if I’m carrying you over my shoulder, but I guess that’s up to you.”

She felt her jaw drop. “You’re saying you’ll haul me out of here if you have to?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re not going to let Clifford Jackson get the best of you—that’s why.”

She considered his response, found it somewhat empowering and, therefore, appealing. “How do you propose we stop him?”

“We’re going to be seen around LA, make sure we’re photographed together and leak those pictures to every online source that might be interested.”

That would be a long list. For the news outlets, it’d be almost like receiving shots of Hailey Bieber hanging out with another man if she ever split with Justin. “You want to make him think we’re seeing each other? That I’ve already moved on?”

“He can think whatever he wants as long as he knows you’re not sitting in your room—” he poked his head out again “—crying over him.”

“What about the evidence?” she grumbled. “You don’t think my swollen eyes and red face will give me away?”

“That’s what makeup and sunglasses are for.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip as the nasty online comments she’d read about herself floated through her mind. It wouldn’t help her broken heart, but maybe it would feel good to salvage a portion of her pride . . . “You really believe we can sell it?”

“Why not? Any woman would want to be seen with me. After all, I’m a hell of a good-looking guy.”

That made her laugh out loud in spite of everything. “You’re definitely not bad.”

Excerpted from Meet Me In Italy by Brenda Novak. © 2026 by Brenda Novak, used with permission from MIRA, an imprint of HarperCollins.

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Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Brenda Novak’s The Summer That Changed Everything, which is out June 3rd 2025.

It’s been fifteen years since Lucy Sinclair saw her father. Fifteen long years since she sat in a courtroom and watched him sentenced to life in prison. He murdered three victims—all people she knew—which ruined her life at just seventeen. But now she’s back in Virginia to talk to him, wondering if there’s more to the story of what happened that fateful night.

An old flame, Ford Wagner, makes his own return to North Hampton Beach, fleeing a marriage that seems destined for divorce. He’s wary of Lucy and her digging into the past, but the more time they spend together, the closer they get and the more he finds himself reconsidering the truth behind the death of their mutual friend that summer. Problem is, there are plenty of those in this small coastal town who would prefer things stay quiet…

Red Onion State Prison, near Pound, VA

April 16

It’d been fifteen years since Lucy Sinclair last saw her father. She’d sat at his trial, as shocked and horrified by all that’d been revealed as anyone else. There were those in the gallery who’d lost a loved one and felt profound grief and anger. Her heart broke for them. But she received no sympathy as they showed graphic pictures of her father’s victims. That three-month stretch, from the time the police had knocked on the door to the moment her father had been sentenced to life in prison, had felt like she’d been catapulted into The Twilight Zone. Except it was real. At seventeen, she was going through something that most of humanity would never experience.

As she’d sat there alone, hoping and praying that, like he’d told her, none of what she was hearing was true, the other residents of North Hampton Beach, Virginia, where she and her father had been living for four years—the longest they’d stayed in any one place—had watched her suspiciously, simply because she was related to him. Some believed she had helped him cover up his heinous crimes. She knew that from the attacks she’d received on social media—before she’d pulled down her accounts. After he was arrested, the trailer they’d been renting had been vandalized.

But she’d had absolutely no idea he’d done anything wrong. She’d admired her father. Unlike her mother, he’d stayed, he’d continued to take care of her, and she’d believed he would stand by her forever. Their relationship had seemed perfectly normal.

The memory of his trial always brought a lump to her throat. In spite of everything, she’d missed him terribly. That wasn’t something she could admit to anyone else, though. She hated to admit it even to herself. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt his loss quite so acutely if she’d had any siblings or other family—people to love and support her in his absence. But she didn’t.And once he’d gone to prison, she’d cut off all contact—changed her last name to something she saw on a gas station sign to break that connection—and soldiered on alone, rambling around the United States in a beat-up old van she’d purchased with what little money she could scrape together by selling his tools and their furniture. While other girls went to college, she’d anesthetized herself with drugs and made what gas and grocery money she could playing poker—something she was surprisingly good at, so good that she’d eventually landed in Vegas and it was how she made her living to this day. She’d never gotten a degree, and other than a few restaurant jobs, she’d never had a boss, a 401K or a regular paycheck.

She clasped her hands to keep them from shaking while she sat on the small, cracked vinyl stool and waited for prison staff to bring Mick from his cell to the other side of the thick Plexiglas. She’d never been inside a prison before, had never felt so ill at ease, except at his trial.

She almost got up and left—several times. It was a beautiful spring day outside, perfect weather. The life she’d painstakingly built was out there, as well, two thousand miles away. But she’d come because she hadn’t been able to forget something he’d said. She’d purposely disregarded it once she realized he had to be a shameless liar, and yet . . . his words troubled her late at night when she couldn’t keep the more painful memories locked in the deeper recesses of her mind.

She was finally clean, stable and strong. If she was ever going to do this, now was the time. Or so she’d thought. She didn’t feel very strong at the moment. She felt like the little girl who’d craved her daddy’s love and acceptance and had believed he’d hung the moon.

Down the row, people used telephones to talk with their loved ones. Their voices bounced off the ceilings and walls of the cavernous space, creating a resounding hum. One woman, who had a young child on her lap, wept as she clutched the dirty receiver to her ear. Lucy couldn’t see the face of the inmate she was speaking to, but she assumed it was the woman’s husband and the child’s father. She wondered what he’d done. Cooked and sold meth? Robbed a bank? Embezzled money from his employer?

Chances were it wasn’t as bad as what Mick McBride had done.

A steel-gray door opened at the far side of the room where the prisoners were brought in, and she braced for how it might feel to see her father for the first time after so long. Once again, she had the impulse to run and never look back. Proving what’d happened to Aurora Clark shouldn’t be her fight. She was probably being foolish, thinking she had to establish the truth, once and for all.

But . . . if she didn’t, who would?

Besides, after traveling all the way from Las Vegas to Virginia, she meant to get what she’d come for. She was probably worried about nothing, but if she could determine that, the peace of mind would be worth it.

Digging her fingernails into her palms, she watched as her father shuffled toward her, his once handsome face lined and weathered, his thick black hair, which he’d always styled like his idol—Elvis Presley—now gray and buzzed close to the scalp. He fixed his dark eyes on her as he sat. He seemed stoic, unemotional. And yet his hands trembled as he adjusted his manacles to lift the phone.

It took a moment for her to follow. She’d been instantly transported back to the night she’d been watching TV in her room while he was, as manager and handyman of the park, supposed to be taking care of the people who rented spaces—or having a beer at the local bar—but must’ve been breaking into the Matteos’ trailer.

What he’d done to the old couple turned her stomach. That was fifteen years ago, but she still had trouble believing he could kill two such kind and defenseless people.

Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she lifted the handset.

He didn’t bother with hello. “You look good.”

He didn’t. He looked old and tired, a mere shell of the man he used to be.

She tucked her thick dark hair—so much like his once was—behind her ears. “Thank you,” she said woodenly.

He had to be wondering what’d prompted this visit. But he didn’t ask. “You married?”

“No.”

“Seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“That surprises me.”

“Why would it surprise you?”

“Beautiful girl like you . . .”

“I have trouble trusting men.” Unable to resist, she added sarcastically, “I wonder why that would be the case.”

He didn’t have the grace to even look ashamed. If he could do what he’d done—he probably wasn’t. That was the thing that set him apart, what put him in an entirely different class of people. “So . . . you’re planning to go through life alone?”

She’d had relationships here and there and one broken engagement back in her drug days. She was certainly glad she hadn’t married Dean. Last she’d heard, he was still using. “Not exactly. I’m just hoping to fix what’s wrong with me first.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’ve had some counseling. Maybe I’ll continue.”

He chuckled without mirth. “Waste of time.”

“Maybe for you. I feel like it’s helped me—to a point.”

“Then I’m glad to hear it. Whatever works, right? Do you have any kids?”

“No.”

“That’s unfortunate. You always wanted a family.”

“It’s not too late.”

He didn’t say it, but it was probably getting close. “Where are you living these days?”

“Vegas.”

He rocked back. “Why Vegas?”

“I’m a professional poker player.”

He blinked several times. “You work for one of the casinos?”

“No, I play in one,” she clarified. “That’s how I make my living.” She could’ve lied and invented something else. She often did, simply because people assumed she must be a reprobate—in the Calvinistic sense—to make her living in such a fashion. Just the mention of poker conjured up dated images of late nights and smoky rooms filled with intoxicated, bleary-eyed players willing to risk their last penny, even though their children depended on the money. But professional players had to be patient, sharp and clearheaded or they wouldn’t be able to make a living for long.

Her father’s scraggly eyebrows slid toward his hairline. “No kidding. You win a lot?”

“Of money? Sometimes.” Because she was a woman, and younger, the other players tended to underestimate her. Or they got distracted coming on to her. She loved nothing more than to sit at a table full of older men who believed themselves to be better players than she was. That almost always worked in her favor. “There are also the endorsement deals, which can add up.”

“You must be really good if you have a sponsor.”

“I hold my own.”

“I remember teaching you the game,” her father said. “At least I left you with one skill.”

He’d taught her a lot of things. The parents of her friends had thought it a bit odd that she was introducing poker to her playmates in the fifth grade. Her upbringing certainly wasn’t conventional. But her father had always taken care of her and done what he could, considering his own background. He’d grown up in the foster care system and hadn’t kept in contact with the many families he’d lived with. He’d struggled with depression and with no extended family to rely on, they’d rambled around, which meant he hadn’t been the best provider. She’d been embarrassed and a little ashamed to have friends over, especially that last year as the richest summer boy started to show some interest in her.

But she remembered many times when her father had put her needs before his own. That engendered loyalty—and trust, which was why she’d never seen what was coming, and why she’d been torn in two ever since DNA evidence had connected him to the deaths of the old couple who’d lived in their trailer park. A separate jury had convicted him of a third murder involving a girl her age—someone she’d also known; someone who’d once been a friend—but on far less reliable evidence.

“You weren’t a bad father,” she admitted, which had to be the greatest irony in the world. She still couldn’t understand how a man could be two such opposite things. But he’d never hurt her. If he was going to kill someone, she would’ve thought he’d go after her mother. From what he’d said over the years, Billie had given him a million reasons to hate her. Her mother had let them both down in so many ways.

His forehead creased, and he shifted on the stool as if he didn’t know how to take the compliment. These days, he had to be far more accustomed to being reviled. Maybe he’d shut off all his emotions and what she’d said made him more uncomfortable than if she’d told him the opposite. “I thought . . .” He cleared his throat. “I thought I’d seen the last of you.”

“You told me never to contact you,” she reminded him.

“I thought that was what would be best for you—best for both of us. So . . . what brings you here? Must be important for you to have come so far.”

A million questions swirled in her mind. But she knew he couldn’t answer the ones that tortured her most. She’d already asked him why he’d done what he’d done—during the trial when her belief in his protestations of innocence began to crumble. He’d simply hung his head and said he couldn’t remember doing it.

“You told me something fifteen years ago,” she said, “something that’s bothered me ever since.”

“I’m sure there are many things that bother you about me,” he said wryly.

She wasn’t going to deny it. “This one had to do with Aurora Clark.”

“What about her?”

Aurora had been the most popular girl in high school. Born to wealthy parents who owned two art museums and a wine store in town, she’d also been interested in Ford Wagner, whom Lucy had been dating at the time. The fact that Lucy had disliked Aurora—for her aggressive pursuit of Ford and many other reasons—made it look as though he’d killed Aurora for her sake . . .

Maybe that was why this was so important to her. She was out to prove it wasn’t true as much as anything else. It couldn’t be true. She’d only ever mentioned Aurora to him as a “mean girl.” Unless . . . had he overheard her on the phone? Picked up on more town gossip than she’d imagined? “You said they could try all they wanted to come up with evidence linking you to her case, but they wouldn’t find any.”

“Because I didn’t kill her,” he said simply.

He stated it as if she could take it for what it was worth—and somehow seemed credible. Could she believe him, though? All the self-help gurus she’d followed on YouTube over the years would tell her she couldn’t. Before that fateful summer, there hadn’t been a murder in North Hampton Beach since forever. Then, suddenly, three bodies showed up within weeks of each other. What were the chances that there’d be two active killers at almost the same time?

Very small. Lucy understood that. She played poker for a living, calculated the odds on everything. And yet . . . There were always outliers. Odds only predicted what was most likely true.

“You killed Tony and Lucinda.” Even she could hear the petulant accusation in her voice. “Why should I believe you about Aurora?”

He seemed world-weary when he answered. “You are the only thing I’ve ever cared about in my entire life, Lucy. But what I did created a permanent divide between us. Are you going to feel the way you once did about me if I killed one less person?” He chuckled humorlessly. “No. And I’m not going to torment myself by wanting it.” He jerked his head to indicate their surroundings. “You stay in here long enough, you grow numb. I told you when they took me away that I never wanted to see you again, and I meant it. I couldn’t face the pain and disappointment in your eyes. That was the real punishment. But now that

you’re here . . .” He sighed. “I’m telling you the truth.”

There was so much in his statement that hurt—that he honestly had, and maybe still did, care about her, that he knew better than to even hope she could ever love him back, that by taking other people’s lives he’d essentially given up his own.

Flinching against those emotional daggers, she told herself to focus on the information instead. “If you didn’t do it, who did?”

He met and held her gaze. “Hell if I know. But someone’s getting away with murder. Maybe you care about that,” he said and hung up the receiver, signaling the end of the conversation.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘The Summer That Changed Everything’ by Brenda Novak appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

We had the pleasure of chatting with Brenda about her new release, book recommendations, writing, and so much more!

Hi, Brenda! Can you tell our readers a bit about yourself?

You bet! I’ve been writing for twenty-two years, have something like seventy books out in a variety of genres– contemporary romance, historical romance, romantic suspense and women’s fiction–five kids (who are all out on their own), and I still live with the love of my life.

After the chaos that was 2020, have you set any goals for this year? If so, how are they going so far?

If survive was the motto for 2020, thrive would be the motto for 2021. I hope we are all able to bounce back stronger and happier than ever before, and I believe the joy to be found in books can be a big part of that. Books provide an escape, as well as encouragement, when we most need it, and I think that’s now.

Quick lightning round! Tell us the first book you ever remember reading, the one that made you want to become an author, and one that you can’t stop thinking about!

JANE EYRE. I hated reading until I found this book in my elementary school library, and it’s the one I’ve reflected on the most, probably because it’s what I used as an example when I finally realized I wanted to be a writer. My first book, Of Noble Birth, published by HarperCollins in November of 1999, was also an English historical, so you can see the inspiration.

When did you first discover your love for writing?

When I caught my day care provider drugging my little children with cough syrup and Tylenol to get them to sleep all day so she could watch soap operas, I quit my job to stay home with them. But I had to do something to make a living. My sister had recommended a really good book to me–Knight in Shining Armor by Jude Deveraux–which I loved. I remember closing that book and thinking, “I wonder if I can do this?” Obviously, writing is something that can be done at home. So I got started the next day and have never looked back. J

Your new novel, The Bookstore on the Beach, is out April 6^th 2021! If you could only describe it in five words, what would they be?

Escape, page-turner, beach read, absorbing, emotional (Okay, that’s six, but close! Ha!)

What can readers expect?

I wrote The Bookstore on the Beach as something I would like to read, whether I’m on vacation or not. I love a strong conflict, one the characters can’t easily overcome, because then I get to be surprised and inspired when they manage it. All my books end happily, so reading a Novak book is a journey of getting to know people (characters) you care about and traveling with them through the story as they conquer their conflicts and achieve a satisfying ending.

Where did the inspiration for The Bookstore on the Beach come from?

I read an article about some parents who were searching for their son. He got involved with the government, trying to infiltrate various chat rooms where they were trying to monitor terrorist activity. He was quite good at it. But then he decided to go over to Ukraine–no one knows if it was at the behest of the FBI or on his own volition–and pretty soon his parents quit hearing from him. Terrified, as any parents would be, they went over there to see where he was and if he was okay, and for the longest time they couldn’t find him or get answers from anyone, including the FBI. This was so intriguing to me (what could’ve happened, how he got involved, why he did what he did) that I wanted to use it as the backstory for Autumn Divac’s missing husband, and the rest of the story sort of spun off from there.

Can you tell us about any challenges you faced while writing and how you were able to overcome them?

Every book is a challenge. As an author, you want the one you’re working on to be so much better than anything you’ve done before, but The Bookstore on the Beach was actually easier than most. This one just flowed for me from the very beginning, which is probably why I love it so much. Ha!

If it’s not too spoilery, were there any favourite moments or characters you really enjoyed writing?

For me, the beauty of this story was that I was equally invested in all three generations–Autumn’s mother, Mary, Autumn and Autumn’s children, particularly her daughter, who is facing such a big life decision. It was enjoyable to weave their stories together and see how the three women drew strength from each other.

What’s the best and the worst writing advice you have received?

Hm. I can’t think of any terrible advice. Most people have given good advice–to be well-read, to join a writing organization for support and information, to build a website, start gathering names for a newsletter list and be active on social media (to start creating a platform). But probably the best advice–at least it’s what I always give; ha!–is to BELIEVE. If you truly believe in yourself and your talent, you will persevere even through rejections and setbacks, you will actually put your butt in a chair and write the book in the first place, you will do whatever you can to support and promote it, etc. I think that perseverance wins out over talent. There are plenty of talented people who never achieve success in publishing.

What’s next for you?

I have two more books coming out this year, When I Found You and Keep Me Warm at Christmas, both of which are part of my Silver Springs contemporary romance series. Then I will have another big beach read hitting the shelves next April called Seaside Sunrise. I’m working on that manuscript now and am having a wonderful time with it.

Lastly, do you have any book recommendations for our readers?

I have one each month! Ha! I run an online book group on Facebook that has nearly 19,000 members. We have a book group read each month–for March it was Kristin Hannah’s The Four Winds, which is one of my all-time favorite books–and then we meet with the author (in a live event online) to discuss his/her work. We do giveaways and prizes for fulfilling the monthly read, have a Book Buddy Program to help members get to know each other, offer monthly book boxes containing autographed books and other bookish goodies and so much more. Check out the details on my website here.

Will you be picking up The Bookstore on the Beach? Tell us in the comments below!

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