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About the author:
Aaron Paul Lazar writes to soothe his soul. An award-winning, bestselling Kindle author of three addictive mystery series, thrillers, love stories, and writing guides, Aaron enjoys the Genesee Valley countryside in upstate New York, where his characters embrace life, play with their dogs and grandkids, grow sumptuous gardens, and chase bad guys. Visit his website at http://www.lazarbooks.com and watch for his upcoming release, THE SEADOG (2016) Aaron has won over 19 book awards for his novels and finds writing to be his form of “cheap therapy.” Feel free to connect with him on Facebook or his website; he loves to connect with readers!
What inspired you to write your book?
Although I’d written over twenty books when I started THE SEACREST, this book was a first of many writing challenges for me. It was my first love story–my first very sensual love story, I might add, where I let myself write beautiful love scenes that didn’t hold back. I really enjoyed it, and very quickly wrote The Seacroft, book 2. I am in the process of writing The Seadog, all set in Cape Cod.
Here is a short sample from the book:
July 2, 1997
I’ll never forget the day I fell in love with her.
There she stood, all tall and lanky, dark hair blowing in the breeze as if it loved caressing her face.
She held a beach ball and faced the sea.
She was sixteen.
That’s all it took. That one salty, sandy, sunshiny day—forever staked in my memory.
Her father had claimed a spot on Paines Creek Beach, right next to ours. They laid out a red-and-white striped blanket and matching umbrella with beach chairs, a cooler filled with watermelon and soda, and white paper bags that smelled of fries and burgers.
I’d settled on a beach towel next to my grandfather, Dex McGraw, surreptitiously watching them.
Gramps sat beside me, drinking from a cold thermos of gin and ice, his favorite. He sat with his shirt off and long legs stretched out, his head back and shaggy silver-blond hair glinting in the sun. He always told me his time was “before the hippies,” but I had a feeling he would have made a good one. He was one helluva rebel. And he always stood up for what was right, no matter what.
He saw me watching the girl and casually appraised her, gray eyes slit and his head nodding in approval. With a low whisper, he turned to me. “Pretty girl.”
I know I blushed, because at sixteen that’s all I seemed to do when girls were involved. “Yeah. I guess.” I traced circles in the sand with my forefinger. The sun burned the skin on my back and shoulders, although I’d slathered plenty of sunscreen on earlier at my mother’s insistence.
He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, but closed his eyes, soaking in the sun and soft breeze. I wondered what he was thinking about. Adventures at sea? Lost loves? I knew he had many, and that some of them had died awful deaths. Once in a while he talked about it. But it seemed I never got enough of his stories. I always wanted more.
“I want to tell you something.” He opened his eyes, and caught me watching her again. She’d dropped into a chair while her father dutifully rubbed white suntan lotion on her shoulders.
“I’m listening.” I stared up at his leathery skin, his eyes so full of wisdom. He didn’t look like my friends’ grandfathers. Lean, muscled, and strong, he didn’t use a cane, or bend over when he walked. His body boasted scars earned from long-ago adventures. I bragged about those badges of courage to my friends.
He leaned in close to me. “Grab life with both hands. If you love someone, put your whole heart into it. Give it your all. Your everything.” He glanced sideways at the girl, and a wistful expression crossed his face. “Nothing is forever, my boy. So enjoy every single second.”
“Okay,” I said.
He locked eyes with me. “I’m serious.”
I nodded. “I got it.”
“Why don’t you go say hello? I think she’s looking for someone to toss that ball with.”
I nearly froze, but he gently urged me with his eyes. Summoning my courage, I stood up, brushing sand from my legs and arms.
“Go on. You’ll have fun,” he said.
I glanced at her.
Now her father rubbed lotion on her back. Creamy skin. Soft skin. Touchable skin.
She held her hair aloft with one delicate hand.
Piano playing fingers, I thought.
You can do this.
As if reading my mind, Gramps nodded in her direction again. “You’ve got this, Finn.”
“Right.” With heart thumping, I took a deep breath and headed toward her.