Release Date: July 11th, 2017
Geri McKenna hasn’t seen her brother’s best friend, Sean Eastman, since he graduated high school. Sean left their little town of Pembroke just hours after she nailed him with a kiss behind the shed, never to be seen or heard from again. No calls, no texts, no social media to stalk online.
Eight years after the awkward incident behind the shed, Geri and Sean meet again. She’s now an ambitious journalist working in a dead end job, and he’s a successful structural engineer working on a classified government project. For different reasons, they’re both interested in a woman who has gone missing midst allegations of a Sasquatch encounter in the vincinity of Shag Lake. Geri is determined to get the scoop on the hottest story to hit the Internet, while Sean is determined to stop her.
Dodging other-worldly creatures and a corrupt shadow government, Geri and Sean struggle to find neutral ground in this debut new adult adventure by author Susan McEachern (who also writes young adult as award-winning author S.M. McEachern).
FREE short story available on all ebook retailers!
Shag Lake Prequel: The Kiss, is a short story about the coming of age of two teenagers who finally discover each other, only to be torn apart by the different paths their futures take them.
Geri McKenna has a not-so-secret crush on Sean Eastman, her older brother's best friend. And it's ripping her heart out that Sean has graduated high school and is about to move away from their little town forever.
Sean Eastman was given a gift: three years of high school living a normal life in the small town of Pembroke. Problem is he doesn't want to leave, especially since he finally noticed that his best friend's little sister, Geri, is really hot.
“A quick coming-of-age story about crushes and dealing with heartbreak.” Susie D., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing
EXCERPT
From Chapter One
My sister Emma’s
eyes widen to full capacity, and she steals a sideways glance at me. “Are you
kidding? You didn’t hear me when I said who was in town?”
“Um…” I search
my brain for a name I might’ve vaguely heard.
She rolls her
eyes and huffs. “Your lover boy from the summer of ’08.”
I hesitate for a
few seconds, afraid to confirm it’s who I think it is: my brother’s best friend
from high school, who I had a huge crush on. “You mean, Sean Eastman?” An uncomfortable knot begins to tie itself in my
stomach.
“Who else would
I be talking about? Or did you have a couple of guys on the go in tenth grade?”
It’s my turn to
roll my eyes. “Oh. My. God. Will you let it go already? It was a stupid kiss
behind the shed eight freakin’ years ago.
I was what—fifteen?”
“Let it go?” she asks incredulously. “You
searched the Internet for weeks to see if there was an earthquake at the exact
moment you kissed him. There’s no way I’m letting that go, sista. Ever.”
I slap a hand
over my eyes as if that will blot out the most cringe worthy moment of my life.
But it’s still there, right behind my lids, playing out in living color. Sean
and I were behind the shed by the woodpile, and I was stacking firewood onto
his outstretched arms when I got a huge splinter in my finger. I screamed,
grabbed my injured hand with my good one, and stared at it with the kind of
horror usually reserved for a severed limb. Sean dropped the wood he was
holding, snatched my hand, and yanked the splinter out. Seriously. No tweezers
required because it was practically the size of a piece of kindling wedged
under the first two layers of my skin. I could’ve pulled it out myself, but I
wanted my hero to save me because I was fifteen and a total drama queen. And if
that wasn’t embarrassing enough, I had to go and sway against him in what I can
only describe as a bad impression of a swooning southern belle, and kiss him.
That was the
last night I saw him—thank the Lord—because that particular end-of-school party
was the last soiree for the high school grads. The next day they all went their
separate ways, and we never heard from Sean again. Ever. He just disappeared.
Mark tried to track him down over the years, more recently renewing his search
to send him a wedding invitation. And I’ll privately admit to conducting my own
online search for his profile too. But nada. It’s the like the guy dropped off
the face of the earth.
Until now.
The thought of
seeing him again is creating a knot in my stomach that cinches so tight, my abs
are clenching.
Breathe, Geri. He’s probably forgotten all
about it, I reassure myself.
Yeah, but my
sister is going to make sure to remind him.
My eyes shoot
left, assessing that little smirk on her face. This is our brother’s wedding
weekend, and with all the parties and family gatherings planned, she’s probably
already composing the perfect delivery for this story to maximize the humor
value. Okay. Game on. She needs to know that I am not without a counterattack.
“Two words,” I
say. “Tommy. Weenerrammer.”
She screws her
face up in disgust at the same time she guides the car off the highway and onto
the exit ramp. “First, it’s pronounced ‘whiner-rammer’ not ‘weener-rammer.’
Second, Tommy’s last name is Weisman. Third”—she pauses for dramatic
effect—“everybody makes mistakes, Geri.”
“Exactly what
I’m saying. You keep quiet about my faux pas, and I’ll keep quiet about yours.”
She slows to a
stop at the intersection. “Oh c’mon. The one
date I had with Tommy”—she holds up one finger to emphasize the singularity
of that event—“was the desperate act of a heartbroken girl trying to make her
ex-boyfriend jealous.” She flashes her wedding ring at me before she turns
left. “And it worked. On the other hand, you kissing Sean Eastman behind the
shed had no other motive than you wanted him for your lover.” She pucker ups,
aims a kissy face at me, and eases the car left at the intersection.
I hold up one
finger, mimicking her, and say, “The one time
I kissed Sean Eastman—”
“He rocked your world,”
Emma says, cutting off my next words. She gives a couple of ha ha has then shakes her head while
muttering, “An earthquake…”
“What? They
happen in Ontario. And that would’ve been about the right time of year for
one.”
One of her
eyebrows shoots up, while the other crinkles into a furrow. “You mean like
earthquake season, Eyeore?”
I stifle a
laugh. “Oh, stop. You know what I mean.” Emma shakes her head, eyebrows still
askew. “Like this time of year—mid-April,” I explain. “When the warmer
temperatures penetrate deep enough to melt the frost layer and the basement
rock begins to expand, it creates earthquake conditions.”
“Oh yeah. Sure,”
she deadpans. “I’m totally onboard with that theory.”
“Good,” I say.
“Because if you start sharing your version of what happened between me and Sean
Eastman, I’ll be forced to share the whole seedy story about your date with
Tommy Weenerrammer.”
“Go ahead,” she
says. “I’m already happily married with a kid and”—she pauses and looks away
from the road for a second to make eye contact with me—“another one on the
way.”
My mouth drops
open. “What?” And even though she has
her hands full driving, I plant a kiss on her cheek. “How far along? Do Mom and
Dad know?”
She smiles
coyly. “I was going to wait until we got through earthquake season unscathed,
but I was too excited and blabbed the news. I’m already past the first
trimester.”
I make a squee noise because I’m really excited
for her—and for me too, since I never intend to get married and have a gaggle
of kids. I’m more than happy to placate my raging baby hormones via my nephew
and… niece?
“Keep it to
yourself, though,” she says. “I haven’t told many people because this is Mark
and Shauna’s big wedding week. I’ll share the news after they leave for their
honeymoon.”
“You haven’t
changed. Always looking out for your little brother.”
She pats my
knee. “And my little sister too. Which is why I’m giving you a heads up about
your old flame being in town. You might want to clean up around the back of the
shed in case your basement rock gets penetrated.”
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About the author:
Award winning author S.M. McEachern (also known as Susan) attended Dalhousie University in the 1990s where she earned an Honours Degree in Sustainable Development Studies, specializing in ocean resources. With a background in international development and resource management, as well as being the wife of a military officer, Susan has had first hand experience in international affairs and policies. She attributes Elizabeth Mann Borgese--daughter of Nobel prize winner, Thomas Mann--as one of the greatest influences on her view of world politics. Susan had the privilege to work and study under Mann Borgese, an author, teacher and political activist for world peace. The first book of a series, "Sunset Rising", combines Susan's knowledge of politics and resource management with her love for Young Adult literature and action and adventure. The second book of the series, "Worlds Collide", was published March 2014. The third book, titled "New World Order" was released January 2015.
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3 comments:
The word 'shag' has an entirely different meaning in Ireland and the UK other than being the name of a sea bird. Essentially it means to engage in sexual intercourse!
@kate - :) but the author is American so... and in English it has that meaning only in jargon / slang... and we have only clean thoughts :)))
Isn't language wonderful!
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