Just One of Those Things (Harmony Springs) by Mindy Klasky Release Blitz


Just One of Those Things

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Book Title: Just One of Those Things
Author: Mindy Klasky
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: February 9, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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book blurbMatt Dawson has returned to Harmony Springs after ten years of pitching in the major leagues. His father thinks he’s a screw-up who should have joined the Army instead of playing ball. His old buddies think he’s a hero with a bottomless bank account. But Matt knows he’ll never be a hero, not like his brother Jon, who recently died in Afghanistan.

Emily Barton once dated Jon but their break-up was brutal, made even worse when Matt tried to intervene. Years later, Emily remains trapped on an emotional treadmill, regularly changing her apartment, her job, and her boyfriend in a futile attempt to regain her earlier success.

Determined to give back to Harmony Springs, Matt opens an American Discount thrift store. But Emily recognizes a threat to the downtown shopping district and she organizes a grassroots campaign. Will she succeed at driving the American Discount out of town—and Matt out of her life—forever?


Emily gaped at the glass in her hand. At the dripping, empty glass. Slowly, feeling the hot flame of embarrassment kindle in the tips of her ears, her eyes rose to the face of the man whose crotch she’d just christened with her birthday cider.

Matt Dawson.

All six feet and more of him. His dark brown eyes were wide with shock, and his mouth hung open as if he were half-way through a word. His black hair was tousled like he’d just gotten out of bed. Not that she was thinking about Matt Dawson anywhere near a bed…

“Matt,” she finally said. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to— I just turned around when Kevin said your name— I didn’t realize—”

“It’s okay,” he said evenly.

But it wasn’t. By reflex, Emily grabbed a stack of napkins from the bar and bunched them in her hand, the way she did when Heather March drank a little too much and the librarian got sloppy from her trademark gin and tonics.

But it was one thing for Emily to dab at a girlfriend’s blouse. It was a completely different matter to mop up the well-soaked fly of a man she hadn’t seen in…what was it? Twelve years?

Of course it was twelve years. She knew exactly how long it had been.

“Here,” she finally said, handing over the clump of napkins.

Matt grimaced and crushed them into a ball. Yeah. There wasn’t exactly a delicate way for him to soak up the cider either. Not that delicate had ever been high on the list of the Dawson boys’ charms.

Kevin Sinclair saved her, passing over another glass of cider and saying, “Emily’s had a rough night.”

Matt offered up the expected questioning glance.

Kevin said, “She was late getting here. Pulled up to her usual parking space, only to find some cidiot asshole parked in her spot. Big black monster of a truck.”

Matt nodded at the cider. “Add that to my tab.”

“You don’t have to—” Emily said. She should be buying him a drink after what she’d just done.

He shrugged. “I’m the cidiot asshole.”

Damn. This night just got better and better.Kev took Matt’s announcement as his signal to start pouring those drinks for the guys at the back.

“Sorry,” Matt said to her.

“It’s no big deal. It’s not like we have assigned parking spaces or anything.” Her forced laugh sounded like a hyena giving birth. She downed half her cider, making it disappear faster than the pint she’d tossed at Matt’s jeans. Which only reminded her to keep her eyes front and center. Pinned, in fact, on a spot in the precise middle of his forehead.

“So, how’re you doing?” he asked.

She spoke to his eyebrows. “Same old, same old.”

From her peripheral vision, she could see his chin jut toward the front table. “Someone’s birthday tonight?”

Crap. There went the tips of her ears again, flaming like she had something to hide. “Mine.” She remembered how to laugh. “The big three oh.”

“That explains the tiara,” he said, without cracking a smile.

She reached up and yanked the plastic contraption out of her hair. “Um, yeah.”

“Happy birthday.”


And two point seven from the Russian judge on Emily Dawson’s conversational skills! But all the parts of Emily’s brain that would normally have reminded her to talk about the weather, to ask what brought Matt back to town, to comment on the freaking baseball game on TV—all those parts were shut down by the mantra: Don’t look at his crotch. Don’t look at his crotch. Don’t look at his crotch.



Just One of Those Things - Teaser 2

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Just One of Those Things Teaser 1

meet the author

USA Today bestselling author Mindy Klasky learned to read when her parents shoved a book in her hands and told her she could travel anywhere through stories. As a writer, Mindy has traveled through various genres, including hot contemporary romance. In her spare time, Mindy knits, quilts, and tries to tame her to-be-read shelf.

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book blurb

Mia was perfectly happy with her boring mid-twenties life, thank you very much. So she didn’t have many friends, or a man. Maybe her job kind of sucked, and hobbies hadn’t caught up with her yet. There was still plenty of time, at least that’s what she told herself each night before tucking into her lonely bed. Then tall, dark, and sinful Erik blazed into her life, showing her all that she was missing…and more. After finally experiencing real bliss, could she truly let him go?

Tired of living a solitary existence for centuries, Dieri Bastiz sought peace from the Romani that had cursed him so long ago. The same ones that he’d hunted until he’d sated his thirst for vengeance. When Mirela appears into his path like a bird in flight, he finds the spark his life had been missing for so long. Yet all is not as it seems at this quiet faire. Can monsters truly be redeemed, or does loyalty reign?

What would you risk, to have it all?


Not that he’d dallied in the flesh. Hadn’t in a long time. Funny tidbit about fucking gypsy curses, those were keepers. He’d thought he’d put an end to his suffering. How wrong he’d been. He had awoken in the ice cave the next morning, vomiting his guts onto the glassy floor. There were so many legends about what made one return after death. He hadn’t been the seventh son, nor was he born with flaming locks. No, he’d been the unlucky bastard two earn two very different curses in one go. Saying that killing oneself was “frowned upon” in the Dacian society would be a vast understatement. To do so while also being vehemently cursed by a tribe of good for nothing gypsies? Well, he was lucky he at least returned to the semi-living relatively unscathed. Purging aconite from his system notwithstanding.

Checking the time, he shoved his phone back into his pocket. They’d be throwing open the gates any moment now. While many tourists thought everything at the RenFaire was fun and games, few knew that there were actually quite a few “others” among them as the throngs of people paraded past decorated tents and stages. The first few centuries, he’d stalked Romani gypsies, feasting on their blood as terror made the taste so much sweeter. As the years went on, there had been fewer and fewer of them. He’d grown weary of his shitty afterlife, and even deemed Strigoi, he’d never harm an innocent. Only that hag’s bloodline suffered at the likes of him. A rarity, for his kind, but he’d be damned if he’d allow himself to be a monster.

He’d damn near wiped them out. At the time, he hoped that he did. Now, it’d been decades. He simply wanted peace. He’d sought opinions from anyone who called themselves a diviner. His well-earned revenge in the past had come at a price. The only one who could lift his curse, supposedly, was one who came from the same line as the woman he’d bedded. Wasn’t that the way it always went? Rash decisions rarely led to good things down the line.

He’d started hunting them for payback, now he hunted them for an entirely different reason. Centuries had passed. He’d met many Romani, but none from the bloodline he sought. It seemed for a while that every waking moment was spent trying to find a way to make it be the last. Many foolishly chased eternity. Immortality. If only they knew how much of a curse it truly was. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. Dragged out of his morose thoughts by the sound of the locks beginning to click on the heavy gates to the fairground, he tried to arrange his expression into a neutral one. The crowd surged forward, all excitedly jabbering about what they were going to do first.

He did his best to shift out of the way as people went to barrel into him. Over the centuries, contact with the human, living scourge of his existence had been a constant reminder of what he’d lost. In that moment as his booted foot crossed the threshold, a frisson of what felt like static electricity wove over his flesh. Bright blue wards, normally unseen with the human eye, flared to life over the gates he’d just passed. His lips twisted in a wry grin. Finally. Someone here at this faire had power. True, unadulterated power. Those protection wards weren’t meant to keep the likes of him out, no. They were however, meant as an early warning system. Somewhere, someone knew that a strigoi had just passed the boundary of the magic they’d woven.

Where was the bitch hiding? He’d checked the divination tents, the crystal jewelry tables. Hell, he’d even nonchalantly walked past the throughway where women in brightly colored skirts were dancing to jaunty tunes played by the small ragtag band. He knew she was here somewhere. Likely watching him prowl. He’d figured they’d be coming out of the woodwork to be the one to “slay” the beast that plagued them. That is, if she was one of the few family members left of the ones he’d done he best to wipe out. Hindsight and all.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he groaned low. Perhaps she just wasn’t here for the start of the show. He’d likely came too early. Giving up, he turned on his heel to head back towards the entrance. He’d try tomorrow when the bigger crowds were expected. As he went to dodge around the idiots with the instruments who weren’t watching where they were going, he fell victim to his own idiocy. The slight female started up at him with huge gray eyes as she fumbled with the candles she’d been carrying. She was young, couldn’t have been much past 25. To him, that made him feel ancient. Reaching out of instinct to help her up, he nearly gasped as her cape fell backward at the same moment, and his palm collided with soft, supple flesh.

It’d been so very long since he’d allowed himself such a luxury. The myth that Strigoi had no heartbeat and therefore had no bodily functions was just that, a myth. One he was reminded of again as she ducked her head, cheeks flushing slightly, making his gaze follow the downward path to the swell of her breasts trapped by the medieval style corset she wore. Her voice was soft, lilting. Almost musical as she spoke in a rapid pace that he could barely understand. Shaking his head in bemusement, he helped her to stand before he bent to pick up the basket she’d dropped, depositing her candles inside before handing it to her.

She was a beauty, that was true. His body had reacted in an uncomfortable fashion, but she wasn’t for him. Her tousled blonde curls and light eyes were the fair opposite of the raven tressed vixens with bedroom eyes that he was after. Without responding to her queries, as he hadn’t kept up with her inane flow of conversation anyways, he gave her a curt nod before he made a hasty retreat. Women were foul creatures, temptresses who made a man lose his mind. He had no use of them. Dallying in the sins of the flesh were what had gotten him to this wretched state. He simply wanted a way out. One that didn’t include companionship and the gentle touch of a stranger, however his body may wish it so.


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meet the author

Mandi resides in Ohio, where she shares her workspace with an ornery bassle pup. She’s an avid reader and blogger, who adores music. Whenever there is a concert in town, you can bet she’s taking the night off and cheering on her favorite bands. She can easily be bribed with peanut butter M&Ms, gemstones, hot lead singers, and gargoyles.

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