He turned on the lamp, pulled up a footstool, and sat in front of her. Reluctantly, it seemed, he held out his injured hand. “Ow!” Abby commiserated. That bird had taken a chunk out of Quinn’s pointer finger, just below the middle knuckle. “You need stitches.” “I’ve fixed worse cuts than this with duct tape.” He dug through the kit and handed over a tube of Neosporin. “Just get on with it.” “How did he get you so bad?” As gently as she could, she smeared the antibiotic cream over the open gash. “Made the mistake of leaning my hand on the aviary wire when I poured the food into his bowl.” He handed over a fresh Band-Aid. “I won’t do that again.” “I’m sorry. I hate that you’re having to do all this for me.” She wrapped the Band-Aid around his finger and smoothed down the adhesive edges. “My fault, remember?” He replaced the bandages and Neosporin and snapped the lid shut. “Can you please stop apologizing?” “I’m sorry.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How does your foot feel?” The throbbing pain from earlier this morning now burned with the heat of a thousand suns….

They reached the bakery booth and Levi paid for two funnel cakes. He quickly maneuvered to the edge of the market, away from the bulk of the crowd. “I’m starving,” he admitted as he handed her a plate. “I am too.” She took a big bite. They had left in such a hurry, they hadn’t thought to eat a quick lunch, and she certainly hadn’t had time to pack one. The flower booth had been so busy that taking a break hadn’t been an option. The sinfully delicious concoction of deep-fried dough and sweet powdered sugar seemed to melt in her mouth. She hummed in delight. “Rachael was right. These are appendlitch.” Levi said nothing for a moment. His eyes seemed to be glued to her mouth. She belatedly realized she must’ve made a spectacle with all that powdered sugar. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?” She quickly swiped at her face. When his lips quirked, she realized she’d used the hand that had been holding the powdery funnel cake. “Here,” Levi said. “Let me help.” He gently brushed one cheek, then the other. He hesitated a moment before saying, “You have some…here.” His finger gently brushed the corner of her…

WHEN THE POUNDING STARTED, Ryan Sorensen glanced from the television to the front door and then back again, settling deeper into the faded recliner. Rain beat against the roof of the cottage situated a few blocks from the beach near the town of Magnolia, North Carolina. The Carolina Hurricanes were up by one goal against Detroit with five minutes left in the second period. He was warm, dry and as comfortable as his injured leg would allow. Nothing good would come of answering an insistent knock on a stormy night. His jaw tightened as he imagined what his father would think of him ignoring a person potentially in need of help. Ryan had been taught from a young age that he owed the world something, no matter what the world handed him in return. The lesson had led, in a roundabout sort of way, to a bullet in his leg a month earlier and a colleague and friend dying in his arms. It had been one hell of a difficult pill to swallow. He figured whoever was outside his door would give up eventually. Minutes later the door rattled on its hinges as the pounding increased in intensity. “Hello?” a…

Jen: What inspired you to write The Truth and Other Hidden Things? Lea: Often my writing process happens by a combination of two story ideas or characters – and in this case, I had envisioned a woman in her 40’s with an accidental pregnancy (which I will admit is something of a fever dream for me) and also the idea of someone who is desperate to be noticed but who writes under the cover of anonymity. Once I had established who Bells Walker was, the plot grew from there. As it turns out, in the past year so many people have been moving from New York City to the Hudson Valley, and it’s been great fun to read real-life accounts of some of the thing Bells noticed about her new home – the tattooed, kombucha drinking hipsters and their love for reclaimed wood and mason jars!   Bells’s life takes a sudden turn when her husband moves the family from Manhattan to the Hudson Valley. How does she handle the big change? Not well! Bells, already socially anxious, uses her move and her pregnancy as an excuse to hole up and stay home. She’s convinced that any person she meets…

A song by the Weeknd plays over the speakers, and it instantly makes me think of my ex-boyfriend, and what feels like another life ago for me. I wasn’t always the person I am now, and I think it’s important for me to acknowledge that. It’s taken a lot to get me here, to be so strong, and when I think of the old me and the decisions I have made, it makes me cringe. But I guess we all aren’t born strong–it’s something we are made into. “Orion Stenton called up wanting a few custom bikes,” Bronte says to me as she approaches. “He’s dropped over two hundred thousand dollars so far. He must be loaded.” We buy the motorcycles, cus­tom them and sell them as one package. It can end up being pretty pricey. “Name doesn’t sound familiar,” I mutter, turning to Chains. “Who is this guy?” “Orion Stenton owns half of the city,” Chains ex­plains, stretching his neck from side to side. “Old family money, not all of it clean. Orion is the oldest out of four, and from what I’ve heard handles most of the businesses they own.” “He’s friends with the club?” I ask. Chains…