Wednesday, January 29, 2025

Tuesday, January 28, 2025

#BookReview ~ If The Ring Fits by Camilla Isley ~ #RomCom #Romance @rararesources @CamillaIsley


If The Ring Fits

When Life Gives You Lemons, Fake an Engagement


About the Book:

When investment banker Adrian and software engineer Rowena started the day, they didn’t expect to end it engaged! But Adrian has invented a fake fiancée to impress his CEO, regretting the lie almost immediately, and now he is in hot water. Meanwhile, Rowena's career has just gone up in flames, leaving her unemployed, unexpectedly expecting with no father in the picture, and short of options. When fate throws these two hot messes into a meet-cute of epic proportions, it's a match made in rock-bottom heaven. They say love is blind, and with nothing to lose, Adrian gets down on one knee… and Rowena says yes!

The rules of engagement are simple:

Pretend to be madly in love

Keep their real lives separate

Absolutely, positively do NOT catch feelings

However, faking it is harder than they thought, especially when every overnight stay comes with only one bed and zero personal space—blurring that imaginary line between ‘just business’ and ‘definitely personal.’

Soon, their carefully constructed charade starts to feel alarmingly... real. Can Adrian and Rowena stick to their engagement pact, or will their fake relationship graduate to something authentically messy, complicated, and wonderful?

Find out in this hilarious, heartwarming tale of two strangers who said "I do" before they even said "Hello." Because sometimes, the worst day of your life just might lead to the best mistake you'll ever make.

If the Ring Fits is an age gap, marriage of convenience rom-com with a multi-millionaire MMC and a STEM FMC perfect for fans of Lynn Painter, Sarah Adams and Fallon Ballard**

My Review:

I absolutely loved If the Ring Fits. The way the characters meet. The mutual need for one another. The chemistry that's there but shouldn't be in a marriage-of-convenience. 

Rowena and Adrian are perfectly written in a story that is sweet and tender, sexy and romantic, and full of laughter and love. The story is realistic and emotional. 

I was intrigued by the synopsis. A quick meeting, an even quicker proposal, and you have the makings of If the Ring Fits. I was pulled in by the first chapter. Set in the present, you have to know how the characters got to be where they are and why. I was engaged by their meet-cute, fake-marriage.

I was provided a copy of this book. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

My Rating:





Purchase Link:

This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you.

Thank you for supporting Sapphyria’s Books.


Meet the Author:



Camilla Isley is an engineer who left science behind to write bestselling contemporary rom-coms set all around the world. She lives in Italy and her first title for Boldwood, The Love Theorem, a Hollywood-meets-STEM romance, will be published in June 2023.

Social Media Links:

Facebook: @CamillaIsley

Twitter: @CamillaIsley

Instagram: @CamillaIsley

Newsletter Sign Up: https://bit.ly/CamillaIsleyNews

BookBub profile: ​​@CamillaIsley

Monday, January 27, 2025

Tartan, Treasures and Trouble: A British Cozy Murder Mystery with a Female Amateur Sleuth (A Dotty Sayers Antique Mystery) by Victoria Tait #CozyMystery

 

Tartan, Treasures and Trouble: 

A British Cozy Murder Mystery with a Female Amateur Sleuth 

(A Dotty Sayers Antique Mystery) 

by Victoria Tait

About Tartan, Treasures and Trouble:

 

Tartan, Treasures and Trouble: 

A British Cozy Murder Mystery with a Female Amateur Sleuth

 (A Dotty Sayers Antique Mystery)

Cozy Mystery

12th in Series

Setting - Cotswolds - England

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Kanga Press (January 17, 2025)

Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0DDFZDH79

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When murder is served at a Scottish Burns supper, it’s not the haggis that hides the deadliest secret. Can an amateur sleuth catch the killer before they toast another victim?

Antiques expert, Dotty Sayers, is thrilled to return to the Cotswolds to reconnect with old friends and run the auction house where her career began. She and her friend, Sergeant Keya Varma, organise a traditional Burns Night celebration, but things go awry when one of their guests meets his end before the first whisky is poured.

When the new police inspector is pushed aside by headquarters before she can crack the case, Dotty can’t resist following her own leads. As she digs deeper, she uncovers the victim's tangled relationships, jealous spouses, and shady business dealings. But when a sensational newspaper article exposes the case, it threatens not only the investigation but also the auction house which Dotty has just been trusted to manage.

Can Dotty solve the case, or will the truth be drowned out by the skirl of the bagpipes?

About Victoria Tait:

Victoria Tait was born and raised in Yorkshire, England, and never expected to travel the world. She’s drawn on her life’s experiences and a love of Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, and Murder She Wrote, to write British-based cozy mysteries.

Her determined and hard-working female sleuths are joined by colourful but realistic teams of helpers, and her settings are vivid and evocative. As you’re compelled to keep turning the pages, you’ll be irresistibly drawn into a world of intrigue, surprises, and humour, as well as a delectable helping of mystery, because tea and intrigue are a perfect blend.

Author Links:

Website

BookBub

Instagram

Pinterest

Goodreads

Purchase Links:

Books 2 Read

Amazon

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If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you.
Thank you for supporting Sapphyria’s Books. 


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Chasing Headlines by J. Rose Black (Chasing Victory, #1) ~ Contemporary, New Adult, Romance ~ @J_RoseBlack @XpressoTours

Chasing Headlines
J. Rose Black
(Chasing Victory, #1)
Publication date: January 2nd 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance

They’re chasing the same dream…
Too bad they’re not on the same team.

About the Book:

When Breslin Cooper’s major league dreams go up in flames, he’s left with his backup plan: college baseball at Texas State Tech in Vanquer, Texas. But his public altercation with a reporter saddles him with mandated community service, therapy–and a toxic “Storm Cooper” reputation that no professional baseball scout will touch.

Liv Milline’s family name is practically synonymous with IML baseball. Yet despite her love for the game (the tight pants aren’t bad, either) and her dreams of becoming a baseball scout–her father holds one, ironclad rule: No baseball for Olivia (the corollary: no baseball players for Olivia is just downright mean).

Her one loophole? Playing baseball beat reporter for Texas State Tech.

Chasing similar dreams, Liv attempts to befriend Breslin. But the amazingly talented, pain in her aperture has only two words to say whenever she’s around: “No comment”.

Still, she can’t help but notice the troubled ballplayer’s running on overload. Emotionally wounded and reeling from his mother’s death, the only time Breslin seems close to “ok” is on the ballfield. Liv and his new teammates can’t seem to get through.

When a lapse in judgment catches Breslin in a real-world rundown, jeopardizing his probation and his baseball scholarship, his only choice may be to rely on Liv–the aggravating, attractive, and utterly relentless reporter, chasing her latest headline.

[Book one of a series, Chasing Headlines ends with a HFN, no cliffhanger, but lingering / unresolved issues waiting to bite them in the butt in Book 2.]

Add to Goodreads / Purchase from Amazon

This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you.

Thank you for supporting Sapphyria’s Books.

Read an Excerpt:

Breslin POV

I threw my glove in my locker and grabbed my backpack from the hook. I imagined myself bounding out of the room, but my legs barely managed more than a shuffle.

Still, I must have gotten going a bit too fast because, the next thing I knew, Rally Girl was on the ground, phone skittering across the tile.

And I was the asshole. Shit.

She sat on her rear in the center of the hallway, rubbed her hip and winced. Fuck, is she going to claim I injured her—to get back at me for earlier? I glanced behind me at the locker room door. She can follow me. I looked at the exit door. I’d have to step over her. That would be ridiculous. I had more integrity than that.

Still . . .

She hissed through clenched teeth.

“You . . .” Dammit, what was her name? I had not been paying attention to anything other than, well, my shirt. On her body. Idiot.

“Well, what’s left of me. Geez, do you eat bricks for breakfast or what?”

Her legs, long and tan and open—they bent at the knee as she rested her elbows on them. And apparently, my body was not too tired to enjoy the view.

“I’m not hurt and I’m not upset. But maybe you could help me up?” She spoke in a soft voice. Dark eyelashes framed bright blue-green eyes.

I extended a hand and tugged her to her feet. She stood for a breath, two. So close. Connected. Something about the feel of her skin against mine . . . A small, but soothing warmth tingled through the nerves in my hand, sparking a heated rush from my palm to my neck.

A sharp breath, and then her fingers slid from my grasp. I missed the warmth of her.

“. . . maybe offer an apology?” She moved her hand up and down in a phantom handshake. “Sure, Coop. No hard feelings.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. Can this be over? I panted for air and shifted back a step. Her being the hot chick in the water fountain had been one thing. I could have tried to find her, always wondered, haunted the student center in the hopes I’d run into her again.

Her being a reporter meant all of those things went on the “no fucking way, ever” list.

“I don’t know what you’re over there thinking, but, I wouldn’t hurt you. You mean too much to the team.” She frowned. “This was an accident. Not that it didn’t jar me to the bone. You missed your calling as a linebacker.”

I blinked. Opened my mouth. Re-ran the words through my brain. She just said a shit ton of stuff, and what the fuck was any of it about?

“I’m fine, really. You need to stop gushing over me. All the upset is really beneath you.” One eyebrow rose and she crossed her arms. How did she breathe while saying all those words?

“Um, are you OK?” She leaned closer.

I stared at her mouth. “You talk a lot.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “That’s what you have to say? Not a ‘You OK?’ or ‘So sorry, I didn’t see you there. Can I help you with your things?’”

I didn’t catch all of it, but, maybe, if I did the last thing, she’d move out of my way? And I could get food, drink a gallon of water, take a shower? I stunk to hell and back.

Help her with her stuff. I set my backpack down and knelt at her feet. I tried not to think about those short running shorts or how good it’d feel to slide my fingers over the curve of her calf, up to her hip. I shoved her shit into her bag and tossed it to her. I retrieved her phone from the tile floor.

“That’s, um. Yeah. Thanks.” She pulled the device from my grip.

I pushed my sweat-soaked hair from my forehead. “You’re OK?”

“Yeah.” She pulled the bag over her shoulder. “Got bowled over by a human freight train, but lived to tell the tale. I pity any catcher that tries to get in your way.” She gave me a tight-lipped smile.

So many words. No wonder she had to write them all down. “But you’re fine?”

“What, do you need me to sign a waiver?”

Red hazed into my vision. “I’d say yes, but reporters are lying snakes in the grass. Wouldn’t matter.”

“I . . .” Her jaw worked, but no sound came out.

An errant thought about her mouth working flit through my brain.

“But, I–We’re on the same team, Coop.” She pointed at her jersey as if that was “proof”. It sure as hell wasn’t.

“We’re not.” I hefted my backpack onto my shoulder. “But you were right about one thing.”

“What do you mean?”

I leaned down and stared at her head on. She turned a deep dark pink.

“To pity the person who tries to get in my way.”

Meet the Author:

J. Rose Black weaves stories about obsession, redemption, and the transcendental power of love. From her early days writing fanfiction for a passionate following of international readers, to crafting novels with her own characters, Rose has always been drawn to broody protectors and plucky, no-nonsense women ready to fight for what they believe in.

When Rose isn’t deeply immersed in her latest manuscript, she’s working in cyber security and thwarting the next generation of internet bad guys. Out of the office, she’s #Shipping with friends over her favorite, swoon-worthy couples, heading to the gym to battle the great evil that is Unmovable Baby Weight, or complaining about her husband’s addiction to 3D printing. Also: nagging her children to eat something other than cheese.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / Newsletter / Twitter


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Saturday, January 25, 2025

#BookReview ~ Have I Told You Lately by Beth Moran ~ @rararesources @BoldwoodBooks


Have I Told You Lately


One photo and a handful of letters can change everything.


About the Book:

Emmie Brown has always known she was adopted. Nellie Brown sacrificed everything to make their life together comfortable and, while not the most demonstrative or warm woman, Emmie never doubted her devotion. But, when Emmie finds a stash of letters and a hidden photo after her mother’s death, everything she has believed changes in an instant. And she won’t be able to rest until she finds the mysterious ‘G’ who sent the letters.

Emmie’s quest takes her to the breathtakingly beautiful Isle of Siskin and into the home of the gregarious, fiercely loyal Hawkins family. After an isolated and introverted life, the burst of colour and noise is overwhelming. But soon Emmie feels her heart begin to open, her mind begin to dream. And as her friendship with kind and gorgeous islander Pip Hawkins gets closer, endless possible futures draw into focus.

But the discovery of ‘G’s true identity will mean Emmie has to choose. One of her choices would mean revealing secrets hidden for decades, one could lead to happiness, but both will need Emmie to be braver than she’s ever been…

A truly uplifting, unputdownable, heart-warming and unforgettable read guaranteed to make you smile, read longer than you planned and punch the air with happiness at its beautiful ending. Perfect for all fans of Shari Low, Jill Mansell and Lucy Diamond.

My Review:

Have I Told You Lately is a fascinating novel about Emmie Brown. After her mom's death, Emmie finds a photo and letters that turn her world upside-down. The letters become Emmie's obsession and she strives to identify and locate "G" who authored those letters.

I really enjoyed Have I Told You Lately. The author wrote a very realistic book. The setting was wonderfully captivating. The characters were complex, fully developed, and likeable. I love the author's writing style and have loved everything I've read by Beth Moran. 

I was provided a copy of this book. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

My Rating:



Purchase Link:


Meet the Author:


Beth Moran is the award winning author of ten contemporary fiction novels, including the top ten bestselling Just the Way You Are. Her books are set in and around Sherwood Forest, where she can be found most mornings walking with her spaniel Murphy. She has the privilege of also being a foster carer to teenagers, and enjoys nothing better than curling up with a pot of tea and a good story.

Social Media Links:

Facebook: @bethmoranauthor

Instagram: @bethmoranauthor

Newsletter Sign Up: https://bit.ly/BethMoranNews

BookBub Profile: ​​@bethmoran

Tuesday, January 21, 2025

Book Spotlight ~ Fast Times, Big City Shelly Frome ~ Historical Fiction ~ @shellyFrome


Fast Times, Big City
Shelly Frome

Genre: Historical Fiction 
Publisher: BCB Publishing
Date of Publication: February 27 2024
ISBN: 9798886330267
ASIN: BOC8CBLC2C
Number of pages: 284
Word Count: 77, 501
Cover Artist: Frank Federico

Tagline: Bud Palmer is in a bind as he finds himself at the crossroads where everything is on the verge

About the Book: 

Like most people, Bud Palmer felt this was just another day. Though the era was drawing to a close, he assumed his life as a sports columnist in the subtropics, in keeping with the benign fifties itself, would go on as predictable as ever. 

But that particular autumn morning he was thrust into a caper that was totally beyond him, forced him to leave Miami and take the train to Manhattan, and suddenly found everything in this restless "Big Apple" was up for grabs, on the brink, at a dicey turning point.

Purchase from Amazon


Read an Excerpt from Chapter One:

Bud Palmer slipped on his sunglasses and set off in his Ford Sunliner convertible on this balmy subtropical Satur- day morning. All the while he tried to convince himself he could get this meeting over with quickly no matter what his shady uncle Rick was up to.

Then again Bud wished he’d just hung up on him. Not put up with “Can’t tell you over the phone. I need you here in person, soon as possible.” That way he wouldn’t be driving across the MacArthur Causeway. Moreover, if his mother hadn’t asked him to look out for her kid brother while she and his dad were on their Caribbean cruise, he’d never have been reminded of Rick’s schemes such as hanging up a dual Realtor/ PI sign.

He wouldn’t be thinking of Rick Ellis at all.

As he drove on, more disconcerting images came to mind: a wiry little guy clutching a polaroid camera, hiding behind the poinsettias as some floozy snuck into a garish motel with some- one’s husband in tow.

Not that Bud himself was always straightforward. At twenty- nine, while his friends were married with kids he was still easing out of relationships the minute he was asked, “Tell me, Bud, how much does a sportswriter make?” Or, “I hear there’s a new subdivision going up in Miramar, each house with a Lanai. Perfect for raising a family.”

In comparison with Rick, however, Bud was always honest about his intentions whether it be his work or love life. In contrast, when playing tennis for instance, Rick was always looking for an angle. He’d crouch behind the net ready to pounce or cut off an opponent’s serve, always looking to throw the server off his game.

Bud crossed over onto Miami Beach, tooled around, passed the ballfield at Flamingo Park, eased by the pastel sidewalks taking him up to Ocean Drive and the fresh fruit juice stand at 10th Street Beach. He parked by a curb directly in line with the juice stand, got out and crossed the sun-dappled street.

Glancing around, he took in the cool tinge of fall blowing in from the ocean, fusing with the salty scent of the water. The sun’s rays streamed through the fluffy clouds; the waves rippled, beckoning the smattering of sunbathers to take a dip.

Everywhere Bud looked nothing had changed. Which included the sight of middle-aged women across the way in their flowery sun dresses, whiling away the hours on the patios of their pink-stucco efficiency apartments; shuffling mahjong tiles; glancing over at the white sands stretching off into the distance in hopes of spotting some lonely bachelor. It was all predictable. Even his paper, the Miami Herald and source of his livelihood, discarded on the empty green bench, seconded the motion.

There was a photo of President Eisenhower above the fold playing golf nearby at Jackie Gleeson’s country club, and a sidebar noting the U.S. was gaining in the space race with the Soviets.

Whatever Rick was champing at the bit about had to be taken with the proverbial grain of salt.

As if in agreement, a voluptuous blond in a fuchsia bikini came into view, turned on the outdoor shower a few yards away, casually washed off the salt water residue on her shoulders, and winked.

Bud smiled back, checked his watch and gazed beyond the mahjong ladies to a gap in the row of efficiency apartments at the end of the block where the weathered bungalow sat a few yards back. The one with the fading sign fronting the bamboo porch railing that read Walk-ins Welcome: Services Unlimited.

He crossed over, hurried past the row of squat apartments, pivoted by the sign, noted the rear end of the rusty Studebaker sitting in the carport, and nodded. It was all the same-old same- old promising more of the same. He bound up the steps, called out “Hello?” opened the screen door and walked right in.

And, sure enough, there Rick was ready and waiting, sporting that signature Charlie Chaplin mustache, flowered short-sleeved shirt and white linen slacks. The first worrisome signal, however, was his bleary, blood-shot eyes as he over-poured a carafe of steaming black coffee into a mug. He whipped out a handkerchief, plunked the carafe and mug on the edge of the desk in the center of the room, and mopped up the spill. At the same time, Bud took in the rest of the place and saw that it hadn’t changed a bit, starting from the girlie calendars on the walls, milk boxes full of paperbacks on the floor; the cluttered desk topped by a scuffed black rotary phone, notary stamp, and the Smith-Corona typewriter flanked by a hat stand with a random display. To complete the picture, there was the rack of glossy magazines so that Rick could keep up with the latest, plus a wooden perch that once accommodated a talking parrot on the near side of a shaded window and a sun-bleached deck chair.

Everything was the same and not at all the same.

About the Author:

Shelly Frome is a member of Mystery Writers of America, a professor of dramatic arts emeritus at UConn, a former professional actor, and a writer of crime novels and books on theater and film. He also is a features writer for Gannett Publications. His fiction includes Sun Dance for Andy Horn, Lilac Moon, Twilight of the Drifter, Tinseltown Riff, Murder Run, Moon Games, The Secluded Village Murders, Miranda and the D-Day Caper and Shadow of the Gypsy. Among his works of non-fiction are The Actors Studio: A History, a guide to playwriting and one on screenwriting, Fast Times, Big City is his latest foray into the world of crime and the amateur sleuth. He lives in Black Mountain, North Carolina.









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Monday, January 20, 2025

#BookReview ~ Banquets and Bootleg Bounty by Lily Barrish Levner ~ #Historical #CozyMystery



Banquets and Bootleg Bounty 
Catskill Capers 
Book One
Lily Barrish Levner

Genre: Cozy Mystery, Historical 
Publisher: Neversink Press 
Date of Publication: Nov. 11, 2024
ISBN: 979-8990895201
ASIN: B0DM1JFPQS
Number of pages: 222
Word Count: 50,000
Cover Artist: Jaycee DeLorenzo

Tagline: 

A 1944 Cozy Mystery with a Dash of Mobster Gold

About the Book:

It’s the summer of 1944 as Dotty and Abe arrive at the bustling Concord Hotel in the heart of the Catskill Mountains’ famous Borscht Belt. They are eager to start their new jobs as waitress and busboy but soon discover that serving demanding diners and dealing with unruly guests—including Abe’s impossible-to-please mother—is the least of their worries.

Rumors swirl that a notorious Murder, Inc. gangster has hidden a fortune in cash somewhere in the area. As Dotty and Abe are swept into the race to discover the whereabouts of the legendary loot, they find themselves dodging more than just grumpy guests. With dangerous characters lurking around every corner, the duo must stay one step ahead if they want to keep their future in the mountains from crumbling.

Will Dotty and Abe hit the jackpot, or will they become the next victims of a deadly game?

Fans of Dirty Dancing and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel will love Banquets and Bootleg Bounty, the first in the Catskills Capers series by Lily Barrish Levner.

Purchase Links:

Amazon     BN

This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you.

Thank you for supporting Sapphyria’s Books.


Praise:

“Mrs. Maisel meets Agatha Christie in this engaging debut!” ~New York Times bestselling author Wendy Corsi Staub

“This book is such a treat. Banquets and Bootleg Bounty is a fantastically fun romp through the height of the Catskills with spot-on historical accuracy. Author Lily Barrish Levner gives readers a bird’s eye view of the dining rooms at the Concord, with a dash of romance and a side of danger. Grab a bowl of matzo ball soup and enjoy the ride!” ~ Meredith Schorr, author of As Seen on TV

“It’s really great that the golden era of the Catskills is remembered. This book brought back a flood of memories.” ~Steve White, Concord tennis pro/Arthur Winarick’s great-nephew

“Lily Barrish Levner captures the Catskill Mountains of 1944 with love and longing for a by-gone era in this triumphant debut. Banquets and Bootleg Bounty is more delicious than Shabbat dinner at the Concord Hotel.”~ Marilyn Rothstein, author of Crazy to Leave You

“If you want a taste of delicious food the Concord served to its guests while experiencing the thrill of a dining room mystery in the Catskills, it’s time to read Lily Barrish Levner’s debut novel, Banquets & Bootleg Bounty.”~ Patti Posner, author of My View From the Mountains

“Mystery meets History in this engaging debut!” ~ New York Times bestselling author Wendy Corsi Staub

My Review:

Banquets & Bootleg Bounty is the first book in the Catskills Capers series. The setting is 1940's Catskills in New York. Dotty is excited to get to the Catskills for her new job as a waitress and Abe is set to begin as a busboy. Told from alternative points-of-view, the story is a perfect walk down memory lane for those familiar with the area, Concord, and Catskill Mountains. Rich in history, Banquets & Bootleg Bounty is a wonderful historical cozy mystery.

I enjoyed Banquets & Bootleg Bounty. I loved learning about a bygone era. There was a little bit of everything in the book, giving it a well-rounded appeal to lovers of historical cozies. There is mystery, suspense, a little bit of danger, some romance, and lots of food. The character are well-written and I enjoyed meeting and getting to know Dotty and Abe. I can't wait for their next adventure.

I was provided a copy of this book. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

My Rating:


Read an Excerpt:

Week 1, Friday

Dotty

“That sure is a fancy ride,” a passerby called and whistled while a black Buick Roadmaster rolled to a stop next to the curb on E. 167th Street.

Dotty fanned herself with one hand and clutched the handle of her large, olive-green bag with the other. She was winded and shvitzing after she schlepped from her family’s third-floor walk-up apartment during a Bronx heat wave.

Cars zipped past, and the elevated Jerome Avenue subway rumbled along the tracks. She said,

“Good riddance” to the concrete and brick buildings she was leaving behind. It was thrilling to escape the city heat for a couple of months.

Just last night, she had been surprised when Papa told her there was a seat available in the taxicab. She planned to take the bus. She waved goodbye to the neighborhood, flashing a sunny smile over her good fortune. A hack was such a decadent way to travel to the mountains.

“The middle seat is open,” said the driver, rearranging luggage in the trunk.

A gentleman stood outside the car so she could crawl into the center of the three-person bench seat. She rested her handbag on her lap and settled in for an adventure. “I can’t believe I’m going to the Concord!”

“Oh, the Concord,” the silver-haired woman sitting to her left said in a dreamy voice. “I’m going to the Heiden Hotel in South Fallsburg.”

“I’m visiting my aunt and uncle at the Hotel Evans in Loch Sheldrake for the weekend,” volunteered the gentleman, who was back inside the car, sitting to her right.

“We’ve got one more stop to fetch a wife staying at Sunny Oaks bungalow colony in South Fallsburg for the next two months. Her husband won’t be in the mountains until next week,” the driver said, speeding off.

“Are we in a vaudeville act?” Dotty asked a few minutes later. She watched the middle-aged woman bringing out suitcases, food, a lamp, an ironing board, dishes, pans, and sheets. It seemed she had packed her entire city apartment.

The driver huffed and puffed as he tied a rope around the roof rack. The lamp wobbled, a casserole dish crashed, and a flock of pigeons hijacked a loaf of bread.

Once everything was loaded and everyone was seated, the driver was chatty. “It’s the first year the Concord has been open year-round.”

“I’ve heard wonderful things about it.” Dotty shimmied her shoulders, gazing at the scenery roll by. “I’m one of the first waitresses under the new maître d’, Irving Cohen.”

The driver removed one hand from the wheel to snap his fingers. “You are going to a happening place. How’d you end up at Arthur Winarick’s masterpiece?”

“My papa said you can make real nice money in the mountains. So, I went to an employment agency down in the Bowery. Since most boys are off at war, they are desperate to hire workers.”

“I’ve stayed at Grossinger’s. Never at the Concord,” said the gentleman heading to Hotel Evans.

“The Grossingers are the reason I have such a thriving business. They attracted the vacationers to the Catskills. People love to stay under Jennie Grossinger’s roof. They don’t call it the ‘Waldorf of the Catskills’ for nothing,” said the driver.

Dozens of people had mentioned Grossinger’s to her after learning she would be waitressing in the mountains. She pictured a stately hotel sitting on sprawling grounds.

The driver snapped his fingers again. “Here’s a little mountain history for you. Grossinger’s was the most lavish resort until your new boss, Arthur Winarick, cropped up with a fortune in hand. One night he couldn’t get a room at the G because the hotel was booked. Right then and there he vowed to build a bigger and better hotel to lure the guests away. After the prior owner of the Ideal House defaulted, he lucked out and acquired it. Renamed it and rebuilt it. That’s how the Concord started. There were thirty guests in the beginning and look at it already—there are three hundred guests now.”

“It’s true. Grossinger’s has the name recognition, but the Concord has the finances,” said the woman heading to Sunny Oaks.

“Every building at the Concord was designed to meet Winarick’s vision of richness,” said the Heiden Hotel guest.

“Bet you didn’t know that Winarick bought concrete and steel structures in their entirety from the 1939 World’s Fair. He also purchased a ferryboat at 125th Street and dismantled it for steel.

He didn’t have to borrow a penny,” the driver said, veering to the left.

“How did he become so wealthy?” Dotty asked.

“Winarick was a barber during Prohibition. He’s one lucky son of a gun. On account of his profession, he had rights to alcohol, and his brother just so happened to be a chemist. They set up a basement barber shop. Sold bootleg liquor on the side and made a killing selling Jeris Hair Tonic—largely consisting of alcohol and perfume.”

“He’s a real clever man,” she said.The driver sang the jingle, “Jeris hits the jackpot for greaseless good grooming and healthier, handsomer hair.”

She had high hopes that her pockets would soon be overflowing with tips and she would be able to buy Papa some of the hair tonic for his birthday.

“It’s hot in here!” shouted the wife in the front, fanning herself with a handkerchief.

“Roll down a window!” shouted the gentleman in the back.

“The wind is blowing on me,” complained the wife.

Dotty raised her hand and caught the silver-haired woman’s pillbox hat before it flew out the window. The woman sighed in relief.

“Have you considered trying out for the Yankees with a catch like that?” asked the driver.

She smiled and leaned her head back. She remembered the one time her family had stayed at the Delano Hotel in Monticello. She loved playing the pinball machine there.

About midway through their trip, coasting on the narrow, two-lane Route 17 highway, the hack turned off and into the crowded parking lot of the Red Apple Rest. Dotty stared at the large red apple that sat on top of the roof as they waited for an overheated car’s engine to spring back to life. Once the parking space opened, she sprinted under the multicolored striped awning.

Astonished by the impressive roadside eatery, she surveyed the wide selection of hot and cold food. Papa had told her the washrooms here were the nicest public ones anywhere. He had also said Reuben Freed, the owner, showed genuine care for his patrons. The outdoor line for frankfurters and ice cream was long, so she settled on a root beer soda pop from inside. She did not have an appetite anyway. The lively waystation made her even more excited to reach her destination.

They drove through Chester and Goshen. In Middletown, the traffic became bottlenecked on the winding streets. From Middletown, they traveled back roads. At the bottom of the Wurtsboro mountain, the hack was so overloaded she feared they would not clear the hill.

Abe

Riveted by all the billboards lining the country roads directing guests to the Catskill Mountain resorts, Abe kept his nose pressed to the window. As the black Buick Super wound through towns and villages that made up Sullivan County, he saw bungalow renters unloading their jam-packed vehicles and airing out their summer bungalows. They were his first glimpse of summer vacationers in the mountains.

A rectangular-shaped building painted a buttery shade of yellow with brown trim came into view. The Buick skidded to a halt in front of it, and the driver said, “You can make a real comfortable living here. Arthur Winarick created something special.”

Abe jerked forward and his glasses slid down his face. It was a grand version of the architecture he was used to back in Brighton Beach. He counted the windows on the four-story building that could stretch the length of three Brooklyn blocks as he crawled out of the back seat. He ran his eyes over the lush landscape, inhaling fresh mountain air, already filled with respect for this Arthur Winarick fella. Exquisite gardens and dense trees lined the pristine grounds. Crystal-clear Kiamesha Lake, to the left of the main building, faced the perfectly maintained nine holes of the golf course.

Three entertainers were wedged together in the backseat, surrounded by costumes and props that would not fit into the overstuffed trunk. He retrieved his bag from under wigs, cards, and a top hat. “My pockets might not be full yet, but I’m only returning home once they are overflowing,” he vowed, waving goodbye to the fella behind the wheel who’d given him a lift to the mountains. He spent the entire ride memorizing every piece of advice he received, determined to make a success of himself with the fortuitous opportunities in front of him.

He threw his shoulders back and held his head high. He fit right in. Back in New York City, the lack of men on the streets made him ashamed that people believed he was a malingerer not returning to war. The doors to the hotel were pulling him to something special. He followed the bustling bellhops and energized guests into the lobby.

Luggage began to pile up in front of the doorway while he waited for his room assignment in the staff living quarters. An unassuming man wearing a white shirt, suspenders, and faded pants hurried over to haul the suitcases to a corner, so Abe trooped over to help. He stacked suitcases one on top of another, presuming the man must be an older lobby porter and well-liked since everyone who passed by smiled his way.

After they stacked all the suitcases, the man stuck his hand out. “Thank you. I can already tell you’re a hard worker. I’m Arthur Winarick. Welcome to my hotel.”

His heartbeat doubled its normal rhythm. He expected a sharp-dressed gonsa macher, not just an ordinary fella with thinning hair and lackluster clothing.

Already counting his luck, he received his room assignment and trekked the short distance to the staff living quarters, a separate hotel called the Colonial. It sat behind the main hotel where the guests stayed. The white-painted building reminded him of an oversized bungalow. He let out a low whistle as he pushed into the first-floor room.

A boy with wavy brown hair and a polite smile said, “I’m Leon.”

Introducing himself, he took the bed on the left since Leon had already chosen the one on the right.

“Hello, Abe. Where did you travel from?”

“Brighton Beach. And you?” He inspected the empty drawers of the dresser. He omitted that he had grown up in Philadelphia, only moving to Brooklyn once his mother had reappeared.

“I’m from Warsaw. I escaped at the start of the war.”

Speechless, he unzipped his bag. He knew Poland was thousands of miles away and Leon’s journey must have been dangerous. His childhood in foster care had been no picnic, but Leon’s life in Europe had presented greater challenges. He tossed a pair of socks into the drawer.

Leon continued. “I was working at a luncheonette in Manhattan, struggling to make a living, when I heard they needed help in the hotels. Can you believe I was completely unaware that there were hills north of the city?”

He had previously traveled to upstate New York, so he was familiar with the countryside. He pulled more socks from his bag. “As soon as I heard about the high wages and all the luxuries that came with living in the mountains, I signed up on the spot. I prefer this to being cooped up inside my stepfather’s garment factory all day. I didn’t expect such a dandy space to call home for the summer.”

“How come you aren’t enrolled in the army?”

He shifted his eyes to the single window in the middle of the room. “They discharged me.”

Leon remained quiet. His kind eyes encouraged Abe to say more.

“I was a drill sergeant in Miami until a doctor diagnosed my eyesight as too poor to continue to serve.” He returned from duty, at 19 years old, with his brunette hair a shade more golden, his skin tanned, and his muscles bulging from a year of physical activity under the Florida sun.

“There is no shame in wearing spectacles.”
He tapped the rim of his glasses. “My eyesight isn’t that terrible.”

Leon reached for his checkered newsboy hat; his voice was friendly. “Ah, a Jewish doctor who didn’t want to see another Jewish boy come home in a coffin.”

He raked his hands through his hair, swallowing hard. Here he was a young man in perfect health, while both of his brothers were still serving in the U.S Army. He never wanted people to think he was less patriotic. His Ma’s words rang in his ears. “Abe-ala, this means I won’t lose all three of my boys.”

That comment had stung.

“The Concord is lucky to have you.”He snapped back to the present. “I have had the pleasure of meeting the owner already.”

Leon’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “Arthur Winarick? Making a good impression right away is smart.” He pointed to his head. “I made sure to use Jeris Hair Tonic today in case I bumped into him. That’s why my hair is so glossy.”

He scratched his ear, not admitting he did not understand the reference. “How come you speak such fluent English?”

“I had a neighbor back in Poland who was a diplomat and a resistance fighter. He taught English classes.” Leon placed the newsboy cap on top of his head.

Sprawled out on his mattress, stretching his legs and wiggling his toes, Abe knew he had made the right decision. And he was glad he had someone like Leon by his side. “I feel like a king.”

“There’s tremendous potential.”

His smile spread from ear to ear. “I think I can pave my own way up here.”

A whole new chapter was beginning.

Dotty

Dotty tried to read every single one of the hotel billboards cramming the landscape. When they approached the sign that said, “Turn Here to Concord Hotel,” she was jiggling her legs.

The Hotel Evans guest hollered, “Can you drop me off first?”

“I have specific directions. She’s number one on the list.” The driver tilted his head toward the woman en route to the Heiden.

At the first drop-off, Dotty could not take her eyes off the Tudor-style building as the driver announced, “The Concord is the next stop.”

Now she could not sit still.

Minutes later, after zooming up the mountain, the driver said, “We’ve arrived. Good luck.” He handed her olive-green bag over.

“The Bronx has no space that compares to this.” She gawked in awe at the size of the building nestled in rich grounds.

The yellow paint on the exterior reminded her of their kitchen’s wallpaper at home. Oh, she could not wait to tell Ma and Papa about this exquisite place. Her parents, Merke and Isaac, expected her to write to them all summer long. She would send a postcard soon.

She took a moment to smell the sweet floral scent from the colorful flower gardens before she schlepped her bag through the entryway. People crowded the lobby, greeting each other as long-lost friends. Some staff were new hires, like herself. Others were returning for another season in the mountains.

A helpful bellhop tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll carry your bag to the Colonial, where you’ll be staying.” He led her to another building.

She blinked hard. “I get to live here? It’s an entire hotel!”

“Staff living conditions like this certainly aren’t the norm. Nobody sleeps on a cot in a closet around here. Arthur makes sure we have the best.”

“I’m so lucky the Concord hired me.” She watched two fellas stride into the Colonial.

“It’s coed,” said the bellhop, winking.

She raised her eyebrows, never having stayed in co-ed living quarters. She stepped into her new home. The blue and white floral wallpaper caught her eye. Her papa, who worked as a wallpaper hanger, always made sure to do careful work. He would be pleased with the job done here.

Once she reached her assigned room, she straightened her skirt and blouse. A striking girl with chestnut-colored curls appeared in the doorway. “I heard you thumping down the hallway.

Welcome. I’m Eva. I’m a waitress in the main dining room. Do you play cards? How about poker?”

She plopped her bag onto the ground and sat on the empty bed to catch her breath. “I’m a waitress as well. Yes, I love playing cards.” She ran her hands through her dishwater-blonde hair, wishing it had as much volume as Eva’s.

“I’m organizing a Sunday night game, after we collect our tips, of course.” Eva touched the opal heart-shaped stone hanging on a gold chain she wore around her neck.

“I’ll be at the table,” Dotty promised. She would have to ask Ma for some hints since Ma played cards every day on the Grand Concourse back home in the Bronx.

“Very good. We’ll be working hard, but don’t worry, there’s lots of time for socializing.”

She began unpacking as Eva peppered her with questions. “Do you have experience waiting tables?”

“Oh, yes. I learned everything I know at the Lido Beach Hotel on Long Island. I spent a season there before the Navy turned it into an amphibious base and discharge center. I worked at a resort in Far Rockaway and another one out in Lakewood, New Jersey, after that.”

Eva put her hands on her hips. “How old were you when you started waitressing?”

“14,” she admitted. “I told the man I was 17 and he told me to say 18.” She chuckled at the memory. She had worn high heels and bright red lipstick, clomping down Skid Row to the employment agency in the Bowery. Today she was 18 years old and did not have to fib about her age to work at the Concord.

“You’re an old pro,” Eva said, sweeping her hand through the air.

“How long have you been waitressing?” Dotty, too, had questions.

“After I traveled over from Germany, Arthur Winarick hired me. That was Pesach (Passover) two seasons ago.”

“Are you a refugee?” She placed her hand over her heart.

“Yes. I’m very lucky to be here. My German mom and British dad raised me in Southern

Germany. I’m an English citizen. My parents wanted me out of Europe. They felt it was safest for me to come over to the States. Arthur has a soft spot in his heart for refugees. I landed at the right hotel.”

Glad about that, Dotty rested her head on the pillow, enjoying the comfort of her own bed for the first time. She stretched out her legs and closed her eyes. “I’ve shared the sleeper sofa with my sister and listened to the Jerome Avenue train my entire life.”

“You’ve spent the day traveling; a snooze before Shabbat dinner might set you right.”

She jumped back up and parted the curtains to gaze at the greenery. “I hope Irving Cohen isn’t too strict.”

Eva flung her wrist in the air. “People call him ‘King Cupid.’ How harsh do you think a man with that nickname can be?”

“What if, since it’s his first summer in charge of the dining room, he’s extra tough?” She took a deep breath.

“Bet you didn’t know he was recently married. Consider him still in the honeymoon phase. Act confident and you’ll do fine.”

“I’ve always received compliments from my bosses. I’m not worried.” She bit her bottom lip and watched Eva study her reflection in a handheld mirror.

Eva had a twinkle in her eye. “Stay away from Hershel. He’s my bashert.”

Suddenly, Dotty cared a lot more about her appearance as she slipped into her white waitressing uniform. For breakfast and lunch, the two dairy meals of the day, the required dress code was yellow dresses and white aprons. The meat dinner was served wearing white dresses and white aprons.

Eva wiggled into her uniform. “Don’t forget the trick is to stay ahead of everything and not lose control of your station. What are the three important terms to measure success?”

“‘A breeze’ means the meal ran smoothly, a ‘good meal’ needs no explanation, and a ‘bomb’ means everything went terribly.” She spritzed Chantilly perfume onto her right wrist. The fruity notes of orange blossom mixed with jasmine and other citruses filled their room.

“Very good. What’s the worst thing you can do?”

“Anger the chef. I must wait until several guests ask for things from the kitchen. I want to avoid making too many trips back there.”

“What’s the second-worst thing?”

“I can’t get hung up, or I’ll never meet all the guests’ demands, and I’ll fall behind the kitchen’s schedule.”

“I don’t have to tell you tips depend on how pleasant we are to guests and how quickly we feed them.”

Thankful for all she learned that first summer on Lido Beach, and confident in her food-serving abilities, Dotty swung the door open. The same two fellas she had seen earlier were now exiting their room a couple of doors down. They wore stark white jackets. I have a feeling this is going to be a very good summer.


About the Author:

Lily Barrish Levner comes from a family that cherished books and learning—her mother was a schoolteacher, and her father was the director of the Monticello library, so it’s no surprise that storytelling has always been a part of her life. Growing up in Kiamesha Lake, New York, Lily spent her childhood sleuthing around the iconic Catskills resorts with friends and soaking up the vibrant atmosphere. Her grandparents worked in the resort industry, a connection that inspires her stories.

As a fourth-generation Jewish American, Lily deeply connects to the Catskill Mountains and the Borscht Belt, where her heritage and childhood memories blend. Her fondest recollections are tied to places like the Concord, Kutsher’s, the Pines, the Raleigh, and Sunny Oaks bungalow colony—sites that have left an indelible mark on her writing.

With a BA in Creative Writing and a Master’s in Library and Information Science, Lily has spent the past decade as a copy desk researcher at Bloomberg Businessweek while working on her novel and contributing monthly articles to the Hurleyville Sentinel. She currently lives in the Catskills with her husband and their dog, Gus, where the magic of the mountains still influences her work. 

Stay tuned for the further adventures of Dotty and Abe when Book 2 of the Catskills Capers series is published in the summer of 2025.


Hurleyville Sentinel: https://hurleyvillesentinel.com/