She didn’t know what the future held for her in terms of her career, but she knew one thing for sure; wherever Anaru was, that’s where she wanted to be.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stacey resides in Ashburton, New Zealand with her husband and three children. She is a qualified proofreader, author, wife, mother, and self-proclaimed culinary goddess. When she's not busy writing or editing books, she enjoys reading and procrastinating on TikTok.
She absolutely loves hearing from readers, so please feel free to reach out via email, Instagram, or join her reader group, Broadbent's Bookish Babes. You can also sign up to her newsletter for up-to-date info on releases.
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WHERE YOUR HEART IS BY EVE L. MITCHELL
ABOUT THE BOOK
Take the scenic route, they said.
It’ll be fun,they said.
You can see more of our beautiful country, they said.
I’ve seen more of these mountains than I want…
And now I’m stuck in a dead end of nowhere town.
My car broke down, so cliché, but so true.
And the garage won’t open until Monday.
Wandering around this town for a week is going to drive me insane, plus their Wi-Fi is practically non-existent. I won’t survive the week.
But the guesthouse run by a beautiful woman? Well, things may be looking up…
Where Your Heart Is isa story about the yearning for the sense of belonging. A longing for what “could have been” and the aching in your soul to find your place.
The story contains mature themes and explicit language, and is only suitable for readers aged 17+.
CHAPTER ONE
MARK
Iknew nothing about cars. I knew to put the key in, or press the button, depending on the newness of the model, but basically turn it on, point it in the direction I want it to go, and press on the gas. Half the time, it took me a moment to remember how to fill the damn tank. I lived in a city for a reason. My feet took me where I needed to go, and if they weren’t going to cut it, that’s what public transport was for.
As I saw the bilious amount of smoke escaping from under the hood and heard the weird hissing sound coming from the front of the car, I knew I was fucked. I mean, this car had been a nightmare from the start, it had a gearbox and a stick. Barbaric.
Sitting in the car and looking out in mounting horror as the hissing continued—but at least the smoke was subsiding—I decided I should get out and go see if it “looked” as bad as it sounded. Popping the hood after I eventually found the small catch that allowed me to open it up, I waved away the hot steam that came racing out to meet me. Once it was cleared, I stared down at the compact engine, and it stared back at me. Well, it would if it had eyes.
“Huh,” I muttered as I peered closer. There were warning lights on theinside, where the hell were the corresponding lights in the engine? “What’s wrong with you?” I asked the engine. A sputter and then another faint hiss, and I’m pretty sure my brother’s vintage car died on a narrow road in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.
“Shit.”
Going back to the car, I grabbed my cell and called him. Nothing happened. Looking at the screen, I saw there were no bars. No service. Of course not. Why would there be? Looking at the car sitting skewed on the narrow road, I dropped the handbrake, and finally all the hours at the gym paid off when I was able to roll the car to the side. It wasn’t perfect, but it was safer.
Taking my bag out of the trunk, I hefted it onto my shoulders, and then making sure the car was locked, I followed the road, hoping that the next form of civilisation I saw was not a crazy woodcutter in the middle of nowhere who chopped up innocent “strandees.”
I walked for hours. I had long since drunk my water, and my pack didn’t have any hidden protein bars. Maybe if I met the woodcutter, he may need to fear me; I was so tired, thirsty, and hungry I was in danger of eating my own hand off.
The sun was hot on my neck, my T-shirt was soaked through, and I had lost interest in the majestic scenery I walked through. Not even the smoke on the horizon could catch my interest.