Howdy! Have you read and re-read The Understorey until your eyes bleed?? Have you put a notch in your lipstick case every day since the announcement that Callum & Harper releases DECEMBER 24th!! In the mood to get a sneak peek at best-selling author Fisher Amelie’s latest novel??? Well, come on in a sit a spell. Get a nice hot beverage and join me at this stop of The Callum & Harper Blog Tour. No need to introduce you to Fisher Amelie, one of the cleverest gal’s to put pen to paper, er, fingers to keyboard! Fisher is running a contest for the length of her book tour! To win a signed copy of Callum & Harper just click here. Now, without further adieu, here’s Ms. Amelie’s latest & greatest…Callum & Harper.
“One day, you and I are gonna’ wake up and be alright. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but one day. One day. I promise you.” – Callum Tate
Life sucks for orphans Callum Tate and Harper Bailey.
Kicked out of their foster homes because they suffer the ‘eighteen disease’ with nothing but a hundred dollar check from the government and a pat on the back, they’re forced to rely on a system that failed them miserably.
So they sit. They sit inside Social Services, waiting for their social workers to call their names and offer them the miracle they know will never come but they sit anyway because they have nowhere else to go, no other options on their very literal and figurative empty plates.
But as they sit, they notice the other. Although captivated, they each come to the conclusion that life is complicated enough without throwing in a boiling tension that can’t ever be acted upon because they’re both too busy thinking about where their next meal will come from but when their names are called and both are placed on a year long waiting list for permanent housing, suddenly relying on each other seems like a very viable plan B.
And, oh, how lovely Plan B’s can be.
Well, except for the psycho from Harper’s past that haunts her and, oh, yeah, there’s the little issue that neither of them knows they’re in love with the other.
Needless to say, Callum & Harper’s life just got a bit more complicated.
Oh dear Lord, we’re leaving at the same time. If she hadn’t stopped attempting to hide her smile, I would’ve been forced to reveal my plans to toss the stranger outside against the brick and kiss her face until the sun set.
She passed ahead of me and I caught a whiff of her shampoo, involuntarily sending my eyes into the back of my head. This chick was a walking version of the Pixie’s “Where Is My Mind?”. Sexy. As. Hell. Though, now that I think about it. Is hell sexy? I’m guessing not. I continued to watch. Her hips could have kept time with the damn beat.
“Here, let me get that for you,” I said, throwing open the door. The sun cascaded down her copper hair and made her eyes feel transparent.
“Thank you,” she shyly said but offered up a cute lopsided grin as if to say ‘good boy’. Thanks for the bone, buttercup.
She took the wrought iron steps down to the sidewalk two at a time, which told me she was in a hurry and since it was nearly sunset, I was willing to bet that she and I were heading in the same direction. I scrambled at what to say while her feet scurried along the pavement.
Say something! “Where you headed?” Clever.
She stopped and turned.
“Uh,” she said, seeming embarrassed. She thought twice for a moment before stiffening her body and raising her chin. “I’m headed to..” Confusion set in. She glanced down at the same piece of paper I, as fate would have it, held in my own hand. “Hope House, on One Hundred and Second,” she finished.
“What a coincidence,” I teased with a slight grin.
“You too?” She asked, one eyebrow raised. Cynical, a product of the system.
“Yup, what can I say? Looks like we share the same amount of luck.”
“Which would be?” She asked.
“Nil, if you’re going to Hope House.”
She laughed at our dire situations which was pretty much all you could do.
“Want a ride?” I asked. She didn’t answer me, obviously not willing to trust me, so I offered, “Listen, by the time you walk there they’ll be closed and definitely won’t have any spaces open. If you ride with me, at least we have a chance of getting a spot for the night.”
She sighed. “A valid point,” she said, looking around for my car.
I’m embarrassed by this. “Uh, “ I said, scratching the stubble on my chin with the backs of my fingers. “I don’t actually own a car.” I point to my vintage nineteen-fifty Indian motorcycle. “Come on. It’s better than walking, right?” I stuck my hands out in offering.
She smiled slowly in appreciation, her mouth curling up at the sides and her eyes squinting into the sun. Her head bobbed slowly up and down on her neck. A silent yes. “I’d probably pick this over any car on this street.” She stood back and admired it. “Solid black,” she said. I nodded, intrigued. “Nice,” she simply added.
“You think so? I plan on fixing her up when I get the time and, of course, the money. She’s been good to me, though,” I said, patting the handlebars. “She’s pretty much all I have in this world.” Harper looked at me as if in pity or maybe it was understanding. I really hoped it was understanding because if a girl that beautiful pitied me, I didn’t think I could stand it. “Hop on,” I said. She straddled the back of the leather seat and slid her duffel across her chest to sit behind her. “Uh, you might want to, uh,” I said awkwardly, struggling with how to ask her to push her hair back so I could fit my helmet on her.
Instead, I set the helmet on the seat between her legs and brazenly ran my fingers through her hair. It flowed off her shoulders and settled onto her back. The scent of her shampoo bombarded me one more time and I swayed slightly at the assault but regained my stance. I grabbed the helmet off her lap and fit it onto her head. She giggled at the awkward familiarity of it.
“Sorry,” I said. “But I wouldn’t dream of putting you on the back of my bike without this.”
“It’s alright,” she said, but paused. “Why? Are you an unsafe driver?”
“No, uh, my parents died in a car accident when I was four,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She had the decency to look sincere. That was pretty refreshing, actually.
“It’s alright,” I sighed, shrugging my shoulders. “I barely remember them.”
“I don’t know anything about mine,” she said, studying her feet, then realized what she was doing. “Harper Bailey,” she said cheerfully, holding out her hand, revealing a dimpled grin.
I buckled the clasp around her delicate chin, resting my hands on the top of the helmet playfully. “My name is Callum Tate and I’m going to take care of you, Harper Bailey.”
Her extended hand dropped into her lap. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. “Wh…what did you say?”
Shit. Was that was too forward? “I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m Callum Tate. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harper Bailey.” I grabbed her thin hand and a shot of warmth crept up my veins and shocked my heart into a frenzy.
The smile that had so quickly faded before came back with a vengeance. She squeezed my hand in greeting and whispered, “It’s very nice to meet you, Callum.”
I climbed on to the front part of the seat and started the engine. Harper settled her hands on the side of my ribs and I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more than her arms wound tight against my chest. Suddenly, I couldn’t get on the road fast enough.
Howdy, folks! My name is Fisher Amelie and I wrote this little story called Callum & Harper. I’m quite invested in my characters. I’m obsessed with them. In fact, I rummage through their trash when they’re not looking. Again, I’ve said this before in other posts. I realize that this is invasive and maybe slightly crazy, okay, a lot crazy, but guess what? I don’t care! Mwuahahaha! Because I made them. I am the master puppeteer! Now, dance for me, characters!
Anyway, so I’ve rummaged through Charlie James’ trash and found this crumpled up piece of paper. I’ve decided to reveal all. Maybe this will get him to admit he’s in love with Cherry Bomb. It might even be what motivates me to write their novella. We shall see.
Evelyn, (That’s Cherry’s real name. Only Charlie knows it. Well, Charlie and, um, you.)
Did I ever tell you that you have an old woman’s name? Yes, I suppose I have, many times. In fact, I just realized, I tease you incessantly over it in private. Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn. If I were being honest, I’d tell you just how much I really love that name, that I find the name Evelyn to be the most beautiful name invented by God but mostly because it’s yours. (Did I mention that Charlie’s English. Yes, if you haven’t already guessed, Charlie’s English.) I’m in a bit of bind, Love. I’m bound. Ridiculously bound to you. To put it bluntly, I’m in love with you.
There. I said it.
I’m in love with you, Evelyn!
I know, it’s bloody ridiculous that I haven’t said so before but you unnerve me. So much, in fact, that I avoid red heads altogether. Many, including Callum, funnily enough, think I have an aversion to them but, truly, I avoid them so I cannot ever be reminded of you.
To my everlasting shame, I have tried to forget you, indulging in women of all shapes and sizes as long as those shapes and sizes look nothing like you. I want to forget because I cannot lose you as my friend. I believe my soul would collapse in on itself, crushing my heart and lungs, if I yielded to you….and lost you. I would be unable to breathe, for my heart could not beat without you, dear friend.
You are the most lovely, witty, clever friend I own and I cannot imagine spoiling that with a kiss, an embrace, a confession because that’s what love does. It means well. Love always has the best intentions but with love comes the inevitable. Inevitables, like jealousy, distrust, and accusations. I’ve had it all before and before I could take the risk because the heart and soul attached to those risks seemed worth it but yours I cannot endanger. Your heart and soul is the perfect compliment to mine.
I believe I’ve just written myself into a corner, Evelyn, convinced myself that I must keep you as my friend only, despite the incredible urge I have to wrap you in my arms and take you to my home forever, to marry you, build a family with you.
I’m a coward.
Love always, but you knew that,
What a dolt, right?! I could just clobber him but that’s okay. He’s only insecure. Poor guy. Oh well. If you’ll excuse me, I must go rummage through Cherry’s trash now.
Fisher Amelie resides in the South with her kick ace husband slash soul mate. She earned her first ‘mama’ patch in 2009. She also lives with her Weim, ‘Jonah’, and her Beta, ‘Whale’. All these living creatures keep the belly of her life full, sometimes to the point of gluttony, but she doesn’t mind all that much because life isn’t worth living if it isn’t entertaining, right?
Fisher grew up writing. She secretly hid notebooks and notebooks of dribble in a large Tupperware storag container in her closet as a kid. She didn’t put two and two together until after college where it suddenly dawned on her,
“Hey, I like writing”. She’s a bit dense.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Put down that Oreo, your butt can’t take any more.”
Anyway, she likes to write and has finally beaten her self-esteem into submission enough to allow herself to be scrutinized under the ‘other readers’ microscope. “No! No! Not a cover slip! Last time it gave me a ra….” (mumbling)
Visit Fisher at her website. http://www.fisheramelie.com <http://fisheramelie.com/>
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