Chatting with author Anastasia Abboud

I'm delighted to welcome Anastasia Abboud to my blog. Today, I have an excerpt from her new book Tremors Through Time. But first, let's start with a speed round!

Morning or night? Morning, especially dawn

Favorite food? French fries!

eBook, paperback, or audiobook? All, absolutely all.

Favorite season? Fall, glorious fall.

Favorite movie? Elf

Night on the town or cozy evening in? Delicious cozy evenings.

Stilettos or flipflops or sneakers? Sneakers!

Chicken or steak? Fajitas, entrecôte, rib-eyes…

Favorite junk food? French fries forever!

Beach or mountains? Looooove the mountains.

About the book

Tremors Through Time

Author: Anastasia Abboud

Genre: Time Travel Romance

Heat level: some steam, mostly fade to black

In the infinite vastness of time—past, present, future, past—love prevails.

Blurb

She's made mistakes and paid the price, but Deidre Chisolm is no quitter. She'll never again be a fool for a man, not even her gorgeous new neighbor with his haunted eyes and strange accent. She'll be friendly, but nothing more.

Lachlann has to go back to fourteenth-century Scotland. He can't forsake his family, his son. But when a beautiful, kind, funny lady buys the house next door, he's never been so drawn to anyone in his life. Would she believe his story? After years of struggling through nightmares and flashbacks, headaches and illiteracy, dare he ask her to help him return?

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Peek between the pages...

A few hours later, still sipping champagne, Deidre sorted through her old hope chest. Hope chest. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

Suit of armor, my ass. She snorted. It was a wonder she even had dishes to eat on after the long, expensive divorce. But she would’ve paid any price to be free and to prevent that asshole from sucking one more penny from her.

Over. It’s over, Deidre. After almost five years of subsisting in tiny efficiencies, living out of boxes, five years of scrimping, saving, and tears, the divorce lawyer had been paid in full and she’d been able to save enough for a small down payment on a house. She’d done it. She’d made a new life for herself. She had her own home, a good position at the University of Houston, and she was on track for tenure. She’d be fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

Rising onto her knees, she rifled through the chest. Where was it? A soft quilt, an embroidered pillow, a lace shawl, a tea cozy…She continued pulling out her dear granny’s handiwork until she found it. Unwinding a long, lace table runner, she removed layers of tissue paper. As the last of the wrappings fell away, she choked back tears and stared at the face of her farmer, a face she had known all her life.

The small, framed drawing was one of the few things of value she possessed. Faded and fragile, it was a bona fide and precious antique, handed down through her father’s family for generations, placed in her keeping by her grandfather. It had hung in the great room of the farmhouse. She’d stood looking up at it so often that Gramps had finally moved it to her room. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old.

After that, she’d shared every sadness, every disappointment, and every joy with her farmer. She gazed at the beloved face.

No one knew who he was, but he’d been the impetus for her chosen career, the very reason she’d wanted to study medieval history. In her studies, she’d come across drawings of medieval farmers guiding their teams of oxen, but hers stood alone, strong and sure, facing the artist.

She touched the glass, tracing him with her finger, feeling that, somehow, he reached through the centuries to comfort her.

“I wish you were here,” she whispered.

She worked for another hour, until her back ached and her chest hurt from unshed tears. It wasn’t quite dusk, but it felt like midnight to her. She needed fresh air.

Stepping out the kitchen door, she walked around her swampy swimming pool to stand looking out at the fifth green. It was a warm summer’s night, but a breeze was blowing. She loved the view. Too bad she had no one to share it with.

She’d always believed she would have a family by the time she was thirty. But here she was, thirty-two and completely alone. Alone on her birthday, alone in a house she had purchased as a gift for herself. She blinked back tears and focused on the golf course.

The green looked almost endless. Small hills rose here and there, framing her view. There was a pond in the distance and, beyond it, a copse of pine trees. It was beautiful, the main reason she had chosen this property. It reminded her of home.

She thought longingly of the peaceful summer days she’d spent following her grandfather around on the family farm while her parents worked in Durham. They’d shared countless happy hours sowing seeds and harvesting together. He was gone now, and she missed him terribly.

She would plant a vegetable garden. Gramps would be with her in spirit.

The sun was dipping beneath the trees when Deidre finally decided to move. Unpacking would be a lot more productive than standing around feeling sorry for herself. Wiping her cheeks, she began to turn toward her house and suddenly realized she wasn’t alone.

There was little privacy between the golf course properties. Low, wrought-iron fences and short hedges were the rule.

A man—a huge man—was standing just on the other side of the fence. His face was in shadow. But in the fading light, she could just make out his features. She froze. Her heart began palpitating.

Her farmer! But he couldn’t be.

Could he?

Well, of course not, Deidre.

But she would recognize that face anywhere. She’d known it all her life. That face was engraved on her heart.

Wow. She was overly tired, no doubt about it. Maybe it was the champagne. Clearly, she wasn’t up to meeting neighbors. With a quick nod in his direction, she hurried back into her house.

About the author:

For me,  playing is the best -- playing outdoors in nature or in my garden, experimenting in the kitchen, spending time with those I love. I also enjoy disappearing into a good book, attempting crafts, learning, writing, exploring, discovering. I especially like to mix it up and have yet to perfect any of it; and I've come to realize that perfection's not the point. It's all wonderfully fun. That's the point!

​I prefer authentic and natural, be it food, lifestyle, people. I passionately enjoy both history and science, and certainly sociology to a degree, and I am most truly a romantic.

​​My husband and I have been married for over forty years. We reside near Houston, Texas, surrounded by loved ones. We have a blast with our little grandchildren.

​I thank God for this wonderful life.

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