Indie Author Weekly

152: A reading from Small Town Stilettos (sneak peek excerpt)

• Sagan Morrow • Episode 153

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Get a sneak peek of Small Town Stilettos: a modern marriage of convenience! This episode features a reading from Chapter 1.

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Hello & welcome to the Indie Author Weekly podcast, where you get to hear about the behind-the-scenes journey of my adventures as an indie author. I’m your host, Sagan Morrow, and to date I’ve written and published 7 romcoms in the Polyamorous Passions series, plus several business books for solopreneurs.

My next novel, Small Town Stilettos: a modern marriage of convenience, is coming out on Tuesday July 25… so today, I want to read you an excerpt in anticipation of its release next month!

Here we go:

Chapter 1: Day 1 of getting sucked back into my hometown


“Remind me again. How the hell did I end up back here?” I asked, phone clutched in one hand as I teetered on the rotting doorstep of my temporary home for the next few weeks.

“Out of the goodness of your heart,” my best friend Rachel answered flippantly, her voice sounding tinny and distant through the speakerphone. “Come on, Margaret! Fort Edwin can’t be that bad.”

I shifted my gaze away from the busted door frame of the shabby motel-style apartment, and looked up at the roof with its missing shingles and rusting eavestrough. 

“It’s worse,” I told her dramatically—which only made her laugh, the traitor. 

“You should take advantage of the situation. View it as an opportunity. You might find that you enjoy hiking and kayaking and living in the great outdoors. Don’t knock it til you give it a real chance,” Rachel encouraged. 

I made a face, then remembered that she couldn’t see my expression. “When have you ever known me to be the outdoorsy type?”

“That’s my point. You need to try new things and embrace the adventurous life,” Rachel said as I fiddled with the key in the lock. I tucked my phone into the crook of my arm, jiggling the door where it was jammed against the frame.

“I try—new things—all the time!” I panted, pushing harder against the door, until it suddenly swung forward, making me stumble in my high heels, my shiny pink suitcase groaning in protest as I tripped over the threshold. 

Nothing ominous about that, right? 

“Yeah, but pottery classes and belly dancing and improv lessons are all within your comfort zone,” Rachel insisted, oblivious to my plight. “This is a chance to try new things outside of your comfort zone. You’ve lived in the city’s downtown for way too long—it’ll be good for you to spend time in a new environment. You used to do all this wilderness stuff as a kid, didn’t you?”

I slammed the door shut and locked it behind me, my city girl instincts kicking in. Fort Edwinites would roll their eyes at me, but I don’t think that locking your front door is about being overly cautious—it’s about being prudent. The last time I left a door unlocked was probably when I was 13 years old… right before I left Fort Edwin. 

I never returned. 

...Until now, that is.

From what I’d seen on my way to the apartment, Fort Edwin—population 1,500—hadn’t changed much. 

I made a noncommittal noise in response to Rachel’s question. She was right—but stuff like that is different when you’re younger. 

Besides, when I did that kind of thing back then, my mom was still around. I wasn’t sure I wanted to take a trip down memory lane… and how could I not immediately think of her, if I started doing all those outdoorsy things from my childhood?

No, I definitely didn’t want to think about that right now. I crossed the room and looked out the window, watching as the waves rippled gently in the breeze on an expansive pristine lake. The pebbly beach ran all around the lake on one side, and the other shoreline rose up in a jagged cliff face, topped with lavish, forested mountains. Okay, Rachel had a point: the scenery was breathtaking.

“It is very pretty,” I said grudgingly. 

“See? What did I tell you!”

“...from indoors, looking out the window,” I finished. 

“Baby steps,” Rachel said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. God, I already missed her.

“You should come visit me,” I told her, for the third time since booking my trip here. “You can teach me your outdoorsy ways.”

“Nuh-uh, you aren’t getting me out there. This is your adventure, not mine.”

“Hypocrite.”

“You’ll be back before you know it. When’s your meeting with the lawyer?”

“Tomorrow. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to deal with everything… probably not more than a couple weeks,” I said, crossing my fingers for luck. 

I had previous experience as the executor for my mom, so I knew the drill. The biggest difference was that my mom was a total minimalist, and she’d prepared everything for me when she was first diagnosed. Her will was one of the most straightforward documents possible. It only took a few hours to pack up everything in her apartment. 

Handling Great Aunt Eleanor’s estate would be a bit different. She had lived in her massive house all her life and it was crammed full of antiques and knickknacks. Aunt Eleanor was a total pack rat, to be honest. We hadn’t discussed too many aspects around her legacy and what she wanted me to do with all of her things. When she got sick, she assured me that the details were in her will, and that was that. 

In fact, the only detail Aunt Eleanor had wanted to discuss with me in advance was what to do with her remains.

“There’s to be no funeral, missy,” Aunt Eleanor had reminded me the last time we spoke, her thin voice somehow still commanding.  

“I know,” I agreed, and then recited, “In lieu of a funeral, you want me to put your ashes in the antique milk bottle you keep in your living room, and then see how many local businesses I can convince to have you ‘go on tour’ for the first year after your death.”

Aunt Eleanor loved the idea of pulling a prank and seeing how many Fort Edwin stores (not that there were many of them to begin with) could be persuaded to feature her at their front counters and in their window displays, as a “token of respect.” 

“That’s right,” she cackled gleefully every time that I’d assured her I’d follow through on this plan. She’d been planning this prank for months.

To be honest, I was kind of looking forward to those conversations with the shop owners. It would be pretty funny to see the looks on their faces: utter horror at the idea of displaying a jug of ashes in their window, in conflict with them wanting to pay proper respects to my aunt. I didn’t expect many of them would refuse her wish. Everyone had adored Aunt Eleanor. 

Damn. Aunt Eleanor and I should have made a bet ahead of time about which businesses would reluctantly agree to it, compared to how many shop owners would just cackle at her posthumous joke. 

I might need to turn it into a drinking game with Rachel—Aunt Eleanor would consider that an excellent tribute. I smiled for the first time since arriving back in town. Thinking about Aunt Eleanor’s sense of humour lessened the tightness in my shoulders.

“Crap, I have to go—I’m late for my shift,” Rachel said now. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how it goes.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

There was silence on the line for a moment. “You going to be okay, Margaret?”

“Haven’t you been listening? Of course not. I could be killed by an axe murderer out here and no one would hear me scream! Feels like there’s no one around for miles.”

Rachel snorted. “Haha.” She paused again. “You know what I mean.”

I chewed my lip, forcing myself to speak despite the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I’ll be okay. I’m okay.” 

“You will call me tomorrow?”

“If I don’t, it’s because a bear got me while walking through town,” I said lightly. The landlord had advised me to get in the habit of peeking out the window before leaving the apartment in case a wild animal wandered into town… but I was pretty sure they were joking.

Rachel snorted again. “Try not to get eaten,” she said in goodbye, and the phone clicked off.

I took a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut. Not now, I told myself firmly. If I started crying now, if I let myself give in to grief, I wouldn’t be able to stop it. I needed to deal with Aunt Eleanor’s estate first. Once everything was taken care of, then I’d be able to grieve properly.

Now was not the time for it.

I let out the breath in a great whoosh, opening my eyes again, snapping into action. Might as well get acquainted with my temporary living space. 

I stepped away from the window and looked around the tiny 600-square-foot fully furnished apartment, feeling as though I’d stepped back in time to the 70s. 

Everything in the apartment was a yellowish brown colour: the fake wood panels lining all the walls, the linoleum floor with its giant cracks between the boards, the ancient love seat, the foldable kitchen table with two retro chairs, the worn coffee table, the ugly kitchen cabinets, the faded curtains.

But it was clean. I had to give it that. There wasn’t the musty smell I’d been expecting, or grime in between the cracks… It was clean enough and minimalist. 

That, I could handle. 

And at least the industrial kitchen chairs looked sturdy enough to hold me. Fifty years ago, people knew how to make furniture that actually lasted. I’d had enough spindly chairs collapse under my weight that I didn’t trust the craftsmanship of today’s “trendy” (read: delicate) furniture. It was good to know I’d be able to sit in those chairs without worry.

I rolled my suitcase into the tiny bedroom, eyeing the twin bed dubiously. The pillows were barely recognizable; they were so flat that they blended right into the mattress. The comforter and bedding were—surprise, surprise!—yellowish brown. 

It made you wonder, was that the fashionable colour at the time they furnished this place (which was, presumably, the same year I was born)? Or was it because the only store within a 30-mile radius had been doing a sale of everything in this colour when they originally furnished the apartment? 

Buy a mustard couch, get the matching mustard bedding and table at half price! 

Not a bad marketing tactic. The colour really ties the room together, I’m sure. 

I released my grip on the suitcase and left it in the middle of the room while I took the two steps to the bed and lay down on the creaking mattress, fully dressed. I closed my eyes, throwing my arm over my face to block out the light, willing myself to fall asleep and forget all about being back here. 

If I left Fort Edwin for good tomorrow, it still wouldn’t be fast enough.

***

There you go! An excerpt from the first chapter of my upcoming romance novel, Small Town Stilettos: a modern marriage of convenience. 

You can read the ENTIRE first chapter of this novel — plus free chapters of the rest of my published works and additional resources — when you join my email list at SaganMorrow.com/secretpodcast.

Get more details about this novel at SaganMorrow.com/books — and add it to your Want to Read list on Goodreads, too! 

That, my friend, is a wrap for today’s episode of Indie Author Weekly. Access the show notes for this episode, including all links and additional resources, at SaganMorrow.com/podcast, and share your thoughts on this episode on Twitter or Instagram — my handle is @Saganlives. 

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Sagan Morrow

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