~Blog Tour~ Holding Out for a Hero by Victoria Van Tiem (GIVEAWAY!)

Happy Tour Week to Victoria Van Tiem, author of Holding Out for a Hero.

Holding Out for a Hero By author - Victoria Van Tiem

Blurb:

Their love survived the 80s. She wished she hadn’t. A funny, bitter-sweet romantic dramedy set to an 80’s soundtrack that proves first love never truly dies.

Libby London fell in love with the 80s, came of age in the 90s, and in the 21st Century is coming completely apart. Her New York fashion sensibility is more ‘vintage tragedy’ than ‘retro babe’ and might just be what’s holding her back in all matters of life and love…

At least that’s what her well-meaning friends think. They’ve staged an #80sIntervention determined to bring Libby bang up-to-date, but how do you move forward when the one you love holds you in the past? Between her dreaded birthday party, friend’s madcap ambush, and being forced to relocate her Pretty in Pink resale thrift shop, Libby’s at the end of her rope. If her therapist isn’t quick, it could be a literal one.

HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO pre-date BRAIN excerpt – Victoria Van Tiem

‘Don’t talk about music or politics. You know how you can get.’ Finn’s playing with his phone while pacing.

‘Wait.’ His words jolt me. ‘How I get?’ I push at my sleeves again, then glance at the smirking Kit-Cat clock in the kitchen, the one that works. Less than ten minutes.

‘You get really opinionated, so don’t talk about anything, you know, too controversial,’ says Dora. She takes a small drink of her water with lemon. ‘Just let Theodore steer the conversation, and be agreeable.’

My newly shaped brows furrow. ‘Well, I don’t agree with that.’

‘Well, he’s really shy, so I told him . . .’ Dora looks at Finn, then glances back at me.

‘What?’ My arms cross. Shit, I didn’t even consider what they told these guys about me. Desperate spinster, never married, has multiple cats, easy? Yeah, nothing’s easy about me.

Snap-flash.

‘Stop it, Finn.’ My heart starts pounding, heavy in my chest. I unfold and scratch my arms again. ‘Did you say I was shy, too? Because I’m not shy. I’m not sure how to even play shy.’ Do I bat my lashes, smile and look away? Oh God, do I have to giggle? I look at the clock again. It’s five to seven. ‘You’d better not have said I’m shy, Dora. I mean it.’

‘Well, no, I didn’t say you were shy exactly . . .’ She flips the heavy bangs from her eyes, then intertwines her fingers over her baby bump. ‘I said you were . . .’

‘What? Quiet? Demure?’

‘Mute.’

‘What?’ Choking on the word, I look to Finn. ‘Did she say mute?’ I shake my head to rattle the meaning. My head swivels back in Dora’s direction. ‘I’m mute, as in I do not speak. Not a word?’

She nods. ‘Mm-hmm.’

I blink. She blinks. She’s serious?

‘Are you off your hormonal rocker?’ I’m talking quite loudly for someone who can’t speak. ‘So, what, you told him I’m, like, missing my tongue? ’Cause that’s attractive.’

‘No, I said you might have . . .’ Her shoulders hike, her lips pull up, she’s bracing herself.

‘Have what?’

‘A brain infection.’

‘Hah!’ Finn whoops a laugh, then snorts.

‘I have a brain infection?’ I spin towards Finn. ‘Did you know? Are you part of this?’

‘No, no.’ Finn’s shaking his head, but laughing harder. Another snort. ‘Oh my God . . . oh, shit. Dora, what in the world?’

‘OK . . .’ I refocus, trying to stay calm, speaking slowly and enunciating every syllable. Maybe I don’t understand. ‘Dora.’

Her eyes widen.

‘You told Theodore I have a brain infection?’

Dora nods, with a nose-wrinkle. Finn’s now bent over, a hand covering his eyes, shaking his head. He may be laughing.

Snort.

Yup, he’s laughing.

I take another step, my lips curling into a dangerous smile. ‘So, like, something’s wrong with my mind, is that what you told him?’

‘No. Noooo . . .’ She shakes her head adamantly back and forth. ‘I would never, ever imply it to mean that. I only meant, well, because he studies the brain, that maybe you’ve somehow contracted a rare virus that impairs speech . . .’ She chin-nods with a hopeful expression, as if her explanation actually makes sense.

It doesn’t. My face folds as I try to work it all out. ‘So, I’ve somehow contracted a rare brain cold that’s caused me to lose the ability to speak? Is that it?’

She nods again.

‘This is how you score me a date?’

She flinches. ‘Technically it’s not exactly a date per se, it’s . . .’

My stomach dips. I look over to Finn, then back again, afraid to ask. I do anyway. ‘It’s what, Dora?’

‘A consult.’ She sits up, speaking fast. ‘But don’t get mad, I can explain—’

Snort-thud. Finn disappears behind the breakfast bar in hysterics. My mouth hangs open as I stand frozen in disbelief. Dora shields herself behind a throw pillow. Her eyes have rounded, the pupils a mere pinprick.

I don’t even know what else to say, except . . . ‘I’m not going.’ I’m unbuttoning the shirt, heading for my bedroom to change into my own clothes, which are perfectly fine.

Dora waddles after me. ‘Libbs, Libby, Libby, Libby . . . he’s super-shy, never dates, is maybe a little too focused on work, so I just thought—’

‘He could cure me? Forget it.’ I spin, jabbing a finger near her face. ‘First, he can’t cure a brain infection. He’s an anesthesiologist.’ Movement from the corner of my eye grabs my attention, I glance over and . . . ‘Really, Finn?’

His hands are clasped round his phone, balanced on the counter. It’s shaking from laughter. He’s still on the floor. He’s recording this? I charge at him. That phone’s going—

The doorbell rings. Shit. ‘He’s here.’ I step left, then right, and then smack into Dora’s bump. ‘Tell him I’m not going!’

Knock-knock-knock.

Finn has my handbag, and shoves it at my chest; Dora’s right beside him. They’re pushing me towards the door, whispering commands.

‘Remember, you’re breaking from your rut.’

‘He’s just like Anthony Michael Hall.’

‘You need a date for your party.’

‘Wait.’ I stop and turn. This is ridiculous, insane. I’m a mute? I have a brain infection? Dora’s a nut-job, a nutter, she’s completely lost it. ‘No way. I can’t do this.’

Knock-knock-knock.

‘You have to. Please.’ Dora says, flustered, on the verge of major hormonal tears. ‘Look, I didn’t mean for it to go this far or to sound so bad, I promise. I’m so so sorry. It started just that you were shy and then, well, he’s always working . . . But you’re fantastic and brilliant and he’ll really like you, Libbs. I just know it.’

‘He can’t like me,’ I say in whisper-shout, an inch from her face. ‘I don’t have a tongue.’

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About the Author:

Victoria Van Tiem

Bio:

Victoria Van Tiem (pronounced ‘team’) is an international author of romantic comedy and dramedy novels, a former gallery owner and creative director with a background in brand development. She lives just outside of Indianapolis on a small hobby farm with her husband and two teenage boys.

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