Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)
Author: Randall, Andrea

Ten Days of Perfect (November Blue #1)


Randall, Andrea




Ten Days of Perfect Copyright ? 2012 Andrea Randall Cover Photo and Design by Evan Spinosa


Permission for use of song lyrics to “Heaven When We’re Home” given by Ruth Moody All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author. Brief written quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews are permitted.


This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.






Dedicated to Western Massachusetts for fostering creativity, independent thinking, and being the place I still call home - even when I live hundreds of miles away. Thank you for giving me the best teachers I could have asked for.






The Kiss


“There is the kiss of welcome and of parting, the long, lingering, loving, present one; the stolen, or the mutual one; the kiss of love, of joy, and of sorrow; the seal of promise and receipt of fulfillment.”~ Thomas C. Haliburton A tear splashes on the crisp page, blurring the delicate lines, as I trace Haliburton’s words with my thumb. How wise he was. Ten days ago, I had no way of appreciating the true meaning of these words. The anticipation of the first kiss simmers with more passion than the kiss itself; filled with possibility, it can be anything you want it to be. Time stands still inside its magic. Your heart races as eagerness takes the reigns. Swollen lips pulse with lustful expectation while the space between you begs for closure; the connection that follows met with equal parts relief and exploration.


Yes, the first kiss is intense, and this one was no different. Who am I kidding? It was completely different; passion sprang from places in my soul that had previously sat undrilled. I’ve been kissed before, that much my brain remembers; but his kisses linger in my bones, leaving me with a weight my soul can’t bear to lift.


The first time I laid eyes on Bo, I knew he was different; all internal dialogue stopped and my soul nudged my eyes to meet his. Each time his fingers strummed across the strings of his guitar, the sound reverberated in my soul as if it was receiving a message my ears couldn’t hear.


All things considered, that was the second time I saw him. But, it was the first time my soul wept at his beauty while being dipped backwards, holding on to her pillbox hat, and kicking up a heel. Most notably, it was the first time my soul whispered to me, in words so clear, Oh, November, this is it. I can still hear them . . .






Chapter One



Ten days ago . . .




I worked late that Tuesday to finish up some lingering projects before dropping my car off at the local garage. Two blocks from my apartment, the garage stood vacant. I parked my car and left the keys in the glove compartment, as instructed. I turned to walk home, enjoying the pinks and purples that brushed through the May sunset on Cape Cod.


The sound of a car door slamming next to the garage made me jump. I decided I’d poke my head around the corner and see if someone was there so I could hand my keys to them. My head only made it far enough around the corner to see the tailgate of a large, rusty blue pickup truck, and two sets of feet hit the ground. Something, perhaps my intuition, set off warning bells in my head, and I decided to turn around and go home instead. I’d taken two steps away from my car before I heard their sneering voices. Voices can sneer, I learned in that instant, and I immediately froze.


“Well . . . where the hell is he? This is bullshit.” A young man, I guessed, coughed as he addressed his truck mate. “I’m gonna kick the shit out of him after we get his money and still make Ray pay for it.”


I begged my feet to move. Please, please go. You’re alone, these guys are clearly bad news, and you really have no way of defending yourself other than running; they have a car, they’d catch you eventually. Still, my feet were anchored in morbid curiosity, forcing me to listen longer.


“He’ll be here, Bill, take it easy. Christ, he’s never stiffed us before, and he won’t start now-it’s for Ray, after all.”