Today we have the first glimpse at the cover art of HarperImpulse author, Jill Knapp's next book, "We've Always Got New York",
coming out November 20th! This novel is book #2 in the "What Happens To
Men..?" series, which is now available in paperback in Great Britain.
The first book has gotten rave reviews, and has divided its readers into
two groups. Are you on Team Michael? Or are you on Team Hayden?
You can get a copy of book #1 here -
http://www.amazon.co.uk/What-Happens-When-They-Manhattan-ebook/dp/B00KKC43BA/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1413380045&sr=1-1&keywords=jill+knapp
"We've Always Got New York"
picks up after Amalia Hastings returns to Manhattan from her trip to
Brazil to find that life has in fact gone on without her. Fresh off the
plane, she is left feeling anxious and unresolved, left alone to pick up
the pieces, and deal with the repercussions of choosing her own path
over Michael. Amalia finds herself without an apartment, without a job,
and starting to wonder if she's even without a best friend!
Jill can be reached on Twitter at @JL_Knapp and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jill-Knapp/1488935691330000?ref=hl
Now here's a sneak peak at the first chapter of "We've Always Got New York"!!
Chapter 1- Amalia
I could tell by the look on
her face that she was expecting something from me. She was expecting something
to be different. For me to be, in some way, changed.
I’m Amalia Hastings, and on
August 20th at 9:17 pm, I was home.
Home. The word seemed funny to
me because I didn’t have a home to go back to. I moved out of my apartment
right before leaving for Brazil and after my friend-with-benefits, Michael,
showed up at my apartment, asking me to stay. I hadn’t thought it through
properly; I just knew I didn’t want to live in that apartment anymore. Before
my trip to Brazil I packed up what little stuff I owned and put it in storage for
when I returned, assuming I would deal with it then. Well, “then” has become “now”.
So for tonight I was staying with my best friend Cassandra. Who was currently
waving at me.
I knew what she wanted. She
wanted stories. Juicy ones that involved hot hookups on the sand. She wanted to
see pictures. Pictures of the places I went, the food I ate, and the hot guys I
met. She wanted me to run up to her in a sun dress, hair braided and skin
tanned, and explain, no, to pontificate, to her how life-changing my trip was. She
wanted me to playfully link her arm around mine and gush about how amazing it
all was. How I was changed forever. That I had a new appreciation for life,
food, and music. She wanted me to tell her that I would never be the same.
But this isn’t the movies and
I’m not Julia Roberts.
The florescent lights above me
flickered, making the airport look dark and ominous. I looked down at my hand
as I pulled my rolling suitcase across the sticky, tiled floor. Not even my
hand had acquired a tan. Three months in the Brazilian sun and my skin remained
as pale as ever.
Cassandra was looking right at
me with wide, unblinking eyes. I walked a little slower.
For some reason I couldn’t pinpoint,
coming off the plane felt like a surreal experience to me. Although I was
relieved to have landed, and I wouldn’t have wanted to stay in Brazil any
longer, I still wasn’t utterly happy with being back. I wondered if it merely
had to do with the fact that I had no apartment to go back to and was feeling
pretty untethered from not having a proper home.
There’s an old saying. I’m not
really sure where it’s from or who said it first. Kind of the proverb
equivalent of The House of the Rising Sun.
It proffers, “Wherever you go, there you are”, and up until about one month ago
I had no idea what it meant. But now it means everything. It rings in my ears
like a scolding mother, repeating itself over and over again until I submit.
I finally stood face to face
with Cassandra, who was grinning like a fool at this point. She was dressed
down for the night, wearing a purple racer-back tank top that showed off her
summer glow, jeans, and gold flip-flops. Her blonde hair was pulled into a
loose, messy bun and her make-up was minimal, apart from the extra-shiny, coral
lip-gloss she was wearing. She reeked of summer.
“Hey,” I offered, looking down
at my sneakers. I wished I had more energy for her, but after ten hours on a
plane it was all I could muster up.
Cassandra cocked her head to
the side and smiled. Her hair swung back and forth and she popped her hip out
like a model in training. She looked as fierce as ever, even dressed-down in
comfortable summer clothes.
“That’s all I get? Get over
here!” she said, pulling me in for a hug.
I hugged her back for a moment
and then pulled away, overcome with exhaustion and jet-lag. I smiled at
Cassandra. She smelled like a salty coconut and I realized she had probably
come straight from Fire Island, a beach not too far from Long Island and just
outside of the city. That explained the dressed-down attire, but not the
lip-gloss. Unless, of course, we were going straight back there from JFK
airport.
I looked back at the gate.
Most people I knew hated airports, but I liked them. They offered a chance to
escape. Get on a plane and in six hours from now you could be across the
country. You could be in a different town, in a different house, with a
different group of people. I think we all took that for granted.
I could go back to Brazil right now. Or I
could go somewhere else. I’ve never been to Cincinnati; I wonder what it’s like
there. Or maybe Savannah. I could definitely live in Savannah! I took a step
backwards, away from Cassie. Back toward the inside of the airport. She just
smiled.
“Very funny, Amalia!” she said
through perfectly white teeth. “Don’t sneak away from me now. I’m so glad you’re
back, I really missed you.”
Cassie threw her arm over me
and smushed our faces together. She whipped out her iPhone and flipped the
camera application around so the front lens could be used and snapped a picture
of the two of us. Before I knew it, she uploaded the picture to Facebook with
the caption “So excited, Amalia is officially home!”
Without glancing back, she
walked a few feet in front of me and remained glued to her phone. The back of
her Havaianas smacking onto her heels echoed throughout the now nearly empty
hallway. I let out a long sigh that Cassandra didn’t hear and pulled my
suitcase toward the exit. Yep, it was official. I was home.
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