Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Meet Me In The Garden by Rosa Sophia *Book Blitz*

Meet Me In the Garden by Rosa Sophia
Published by: Limitless Publishing
Publication date: January 20th 2015
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Memories of another life, and the garden where it all began, keep Amalie Jarvis awake at night.
A columnist for a popular magazine, she attends a function in Palm Beach at the famous Breakers Hotel, only to cross paths with graphic designer Ian Gardner—who appears to hold the key to her visions. The more time they spend together, the more Amalie realizes how much she wants to be with him. And how much she fears admitting that she loves him.
Ian can’t remember the past, but he is drawn to Amalie with an intense passion he’s never felt before.
Many moons ago, they met in a garden. Different names, different faces—but their souls were still the same. Unable to resist her, Ian falls deeply in love. He remains by her side as she battles severe facial pain, not knowing what it is or if it could kill her. Frightened for her, he swears his adoration without ever speaking the words.
But their devotion has dangers, and they’re about to be faced by hazards neither of them could have foreseen…
 Amazon * B&N


There was something about the condo downstairs that captivated Amalie’s imagination. As the days passed, Ian’s words echoed in her mind. She knew he was right. She had to talk to Roseanne.

She was the only person in the building who, on cooler days, would turn her air conditioning down and open the small window by her front door. Scents of freshly made apple pie and traditional kosher dishes would waft out the window, making Amalie’s stomach grumble as she passed the older woman’s condo on the way to her own.

She wasn’t the only one drawn in by Roseanne’s oddly comforting personality. Amalie remarked to Ian one day about the tree frogs that continually took up residence outside Roseanne’s door. They sat on her welcome mat, barely moving. Sometimes they looked like tiny figurines, until Amalie stepped close enough and saw the gentle pulsing at their throats.

Butterflies flocked to Roseanne’s windows, especially the zebra longwing, Florida’s state butterfly. They fluttered about as if peeking inside, wondering when she would emerge. Amalie watched them as she stood in front of the door, poised to knock. Before she could rap her knuckles against the wood, the door opened, and Amalie gulped in surprise.

Roseanne was clad in another of her multi-colored kaftans, her red hair pulled into a casual up-do. She smiled warmly and stepped aside, bracelets jingling on her wrists.

“Come on inside, dear.”

“How’d you know I was here?” Amalie said in a small voice, her heart pounding in her throat.

“I saw ya through the window.” Roseanne cocked her head, one bushy red eyebrow rising above her pale blue spectacles. “Are ya feeling all right?”

“Uh, yeah, I…” Amalie laughed nervously. “I don’t know, it’s stupid, I sort of felt like you knew I was coming.”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” Roseanne waved a hand dismissively as she shut the door behind them. “I’d hafta be psychic, wouldn’t I?” She let out a musical peal of laughter and took off her glasses. “Don’t need these anymore. I was reading one of those dirty novels, ya know. Just got to the part where he was ‘bout to rip her shirt off, then ah looked up and saw ya out the window.”

“Maybe you won’t be able to help me,” Amalie mumbled distractedly.

“I’m sorry, what’d ya say, dear?” Roseanne stepped into the kitchen. “Would ya like a slice ah cherry pie? I just baked it yesterday.”

“Uh, sure. I mean, Ian keeps telling me you might be able to help me with something, and I don’t know who else to talk to. I…I’m afraid you might think I’m crazy if I tell you. And we don’t really know each other that well.”

“Honey, the things I’ve seen, most people wouldn’t dare believe,” Roseanne said, the tone of her voice becoming stronger, more indicative of her Jersey Jew roots. Amalie watched her scoop a generous helping of pie onto a gold-rimmed plate. She handed the plate to Amalie and served herself a slice. “Let’s sit down at the table.” Roseanne indicated the small dining area near the front door.

The two women settled across from each other, and Amalie dug into the pie. It was delicious. As she savored her first bite, she nearly forgot why she’d come to see Roseanne in the first place.

She hadn’t had a drink in a long time, in part because of Ian. She was overcome with guilt drinking around him after everything they’d been through. Alcohol repulsed her now, but at the same time it sort of intrigued her. She wanted to let go, forget. Sometimes she wanted to get drunk. The thought upset her, because she didn’t want to end up like her father.
He glared at her when she questioned him.
“Don’t treat me like a goddamn child,” he scolded, and she sensed the emergence of the man she feared, the one who harangued her, criticized everything she did, and called her names. In that moment, she wished she hadn’t let him come visit.
Several days later, he stumbled into an end table in the living room and broke a lamp. He found every reason he could to insult Amalie, who sneered in return and stomped back to the bedrooms while her father sat on the couch in the dark pouring shots.
Just before Amalie could reach her own room, a hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. Ian tugged her into his room and slammed the door shut behind her. He stood so close she could smell his minty breath.
“When. Is. He. Leaving.” His gaze was sharp, edged with displeasure.
“Next week sometime.” Amalie sniffed, holding back tears.
“I’m sick of him, all he does is pick fights with you and criticize you.”
“Ian, that’s not entirely—”
“It is entirely,” he snapped. “What was that he said to you yesterday?”
Amalie slumped on Ian’s bed, sighing. “That I should get a real job. He doesn’t think what I do is a real job. I work my ass off.”
“He doesn’t appreciate you, Am.”
“This is really upsetting you.” She said it as if she’d only just noticed.
“Damn right it’s upsetting me. Know why?” He sat beside her, appearing defeated. “Because when he screams at you, I see myself. When his eyes are glassy, and he tells you that you’re fat, or that you’re not doing something right—” Ian put his arm around her, drawing her close. “He reminds me of me, Am.” His brow creased, and he seemed to be holding back tears. “I treated you like shit. You put up with it. Just like you put up with him for years.”
Amalie hung her head. “That’s not the same.”
“Yes it is. I was a fucking drunk. Just like your dad. I swear to God, Amalie, I’ll never drink again.”
She felt beaten, exhausted. She’d run out of words, so she said nothing. She merely slipped her hand into his as they listened to her father pounding on the door:
Amalie, open this fucking door. Goddamn it, what’s wrong with you? You never listen to me. You’re such a fucking bitch. Open the fucking door, Amalie.” The knocking turned into slamming.
“Wanna get out of here, baby?” Ian squeezed Amalie’s hand as she wept.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I do.”


Rosa Sophia divides her time between South Florida and Pennsylvania. She edits for publishers and independent clients, holds a degree in Automotive Technology, and enjoys running, hiking, collecting comic books, and traveling.



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