Today, we're taking a look at Em Shotwell's Blackbird Summer. Recently released by City Owl Press, this is a new adult, rural fantasy features a romance, but even more than that, focuses on family.
The Book
When people fear the unknown, being
Gifted is a curse.
In the
cornerstone of the rural south, Brooklyn, Mississippi, no one dares make eye contact
with the strange Caibre family. Until the rewards are worth the cost. The
townsfolk come, cash in hand, always at night, to pay for services only a
Gifted can provide.
No matter
the Gifts prevalent in her family, at twenty-one, Tallulah is expected to
follow the path laid out for her: marriage, babies, and helping her mama teach
the family home school program. She’s resigned to live the quiet life and stay
out of trouble…until she meets Logan.
An outsider
and all around rebel, Logan doesn’t care about her family’s reputation. Yet
after a tragic loss wreaks havoc on the crumbling relationship between the
Caibres and the townsfolk, Tallulah must decide if love and freedom are worth
risking everything.
Blackbird Summer is available now!
Goodreads
Excerpt
Before I could talk
myself out of the whole thing, I shoved open the door and marched in.
“Myrtle I just need to…”
I started, my eyes trained on my sneakers.
My heartbeat filled my
ears and I dried my palms on my jean shorts.
“I just want to
apologize.” I said to the floor, scared that if I looked up I would lose my
nerve.
“She’s in the back,”
said the deep voice from earlier.
I jerked my gaze upward. Crap. I had been in such a hurry, I hadn’t thought
about the other customer. Or even Loretta, who I knew would love to see me
squirm.
The man from the booth
was standing by the counter in the front of the diner.
I clenched my mouth
shut, embarrassed at the thought of what this man might have heard, and scared
that if I talked that I would only make it worse.
The holes in my plan now
stood out in my mind, gaping wide and taunting me with how dumb the entire idea
had been. Things could not get any worse.
“Are you ok?” The
stranger asked.
I was wrong.
The back of my neck
prickled, the way it always did whenever my face decided it was a good time to
turn scarlet. Something too strong to be called butterflies stirred in my
stomach—it was how I imagined stage fright must feel. Both exciting and
terrifying.
I breathed deep.
He was tall. As a girl
who is 5’9”, I always noticed height. He had to be at least 6’2”. And slim, but
not skinny, built with the long muscles of an athlete. The dark hair that had been tucked behind his
ears, now hung lose around a wide face that was decorated with high cheekbones,
and the kind of full lips that made women jealous.
All of these things made
him gorgeous, but his eyes made him breathtaking. They were large, almond
shaped, and the color of moss. Green, but not magic green, and they stood out
against his tan skin. I had seen good looking men, but this man was startling.
And he definitely had to be from out of town. In a place the size of Brooklyn,
you learn most everyone’s faces, even if you don’t personally know them, and I
was certain that I had never seen this man before. I would remember a face like
that.
And he had just said
something, while I was staring at him. Dangit.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“I said that you
shouldn’t apologize to her. She was rude to you. You have nothing to be sorry
for.” His lips parted, showing white, straight teeth that wouldn’t have been
out of place in a toothpaste ad.
Of course his smile would be as beautiful as he is. I touched my
tangled pony tail, and for the first time in my life, I wished I had listened
to Delia and actually fixed my hair and changed clothes before coming into
town.
But he had spoken to me.
That meant I had to answer. I tried to think, but every word in my vocabulary
decided to vanish, leaving me mute. Mute
and homely, a winning combination, I thought.
I shook my head. Good. At least I could move.
“I didn’t mean to
eavesdrop, but that whole bit about the dude with green eyes? I mean come on. I
have green eyes and I am not gay. I mean, there isn’t anything wrong with being
gay, but I’m not. And I am not related to you either. At least I hope I’m not.
What I am saying is that, I am sure your family is lovely, it’s just that, I
can’t be related to you,” he paused, and nervously rubbed the back of his neck.
“I mean. I know I’m not because I am not even from here. What was all that
about anyway? Green eyes and your people?”
I was stupid in my
silence, but his rambling was somehow adorable.
“You heard that?” I
croaked.
My family’s freakiness
had been on full display. And then there were those disgusting threats.
Myrtle’s accusations churned in my stomach, curdling and sour like old
milk. The feeling clashed against the
butterflies and their eager fear, and suddenly I felt ill. I clamped my mouth
shut and took a deep breath through my nose, as a cold sweat prickled across my
upper lip. Throwing up would have been bad, but throwing up in front of
this man, who was a million times better
looking than me, and had just heard from
the most horrible source on the planet about how weird I was, would be a whole
new kind of terrible.
I could not be the story
about that time that he met this nut-case girl in po-dunk Mississippi and she
threw up all over his shoes.
Oh God. Calm down, Tallulah.
“You were explaining
about your family to her. She was being a real asshole. This place is crazy.
That one lady yells at you, and that other girl acts offended because I didn’t
want to, I don’t know, take her in the back room. I guess here you get dinner and
a show.”
He stuck out his hand,
and smiled.
“I’m Logan, by the way,”
he said.
I stared, open-mouthed,
at the hand in front of me. Every part of me wanted to grab that hand and twine
my fingers through his and keep them there forever.
Instead, I stood
stock-still.
Something about him
pulled at me, and I wondered if he felt it, too: this beautiful trance that
wouldn’t let me turn and leave, but terrified me too much to simply reach out
and shake his hand.
My heart pounded out the
seconds as they lumbered by.
“This is the part where
you tell me your name,” he said, dropping his hand to his side.
He stared into my eyes
and his expression turned serious. “That’s so strange. I know that we couldn’t
have, but have we met before? I know it’s impossible, because I’d never forget
those eyes…but it feels like I know you. Like I’ve always known you.”
“Um. I. I don’t—”
You ain’t nothing but a hound dog… Elvis’ voice sang out from the ugly clock on the wall, snapping
me out of my stupor. It was 4:00. I had to get Delia.
“I. I gotta go,” I
mumbled, turning on my heels and bolting out the door.
About the Author
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