*BLOG TOUR* Extract: The Little Bookshop by the Sea – Eliza Scott.

Blurb; Welcome to the Happy Hartes Bookshop in Micklewick Bay on the beautiful North Yorkshire Coast!
The Happy Hartes Bookshop has been a part of bookworm Florrie Appleton’s life as far back as she can remember. From the evocative smell of the books, to working alongside her beloved Mr H and his black Labrador, Gerty, there’s no wonder she calls it her happy place.
Living in a town she loves, with her family and group of close-knit friends nearby, life is sweet. Until one dreadful Monday morning, when everything is turned upside down and things are changed forever.
Devastated, Florrie finds herself thrown into an unexpected situation with handsome stranger, Ed Harte, owner of a pair of twinkly navy-blue eyes and a smile that has the knack of making mischief with her insides.
Despite being fresh out of a relationship, Florrie quickly finds herself falling for him, but she’s torn, reluctant to give her heart to someone who seems intent on not sticking around.
While her heart’s doing battle with her head, Florrie soon finds herself privy to a secret with Ed involving a heart-wrenching twist they could never have imagined.
Will love find a way to bring them together, or are they destined to go their separate ways?

Purchase Links;


Author Bio; Eliza lives in the North Yorkshire countryside with her family. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found with her nose in a book/glued to her kindle or working in her garden, fighting a losing battle against the weeds.
Eliza is inspired by her beautiful surroundings and loves to write heartwarming romance stories with relatable female characters. Her books will always have a happy ending.

Social Media Links;
Twitter: @ElizaJScott1
Instagram: @elizajscott
Facebook: @elizajscottauthor
Amazon author page UK:
Amazon author page US:

Spring had returned to the pretty Victorian seaside town of Micklewick Bay, a welcome respite after the weeks of lashing rain and gale-force winds that had battered the coastline. Above, the sky was a broad splash of clear blue, the sun a ball of cheerful yellow, its rays glinting off the ripples of the North Sea. A flotilla of little fishing boats bobbed about on the waves while seagulls circled above, hoping for rich pickings, their piercing cries scooped up by the gentle breeze and carried along the bay.
Happiness raced through Florrie Appleton’s veins as she made her way to work along the top promenade that Monday morning. The wheels of her vintage bike whirred along the cycle path, skimming over the flagstones, her scarf flying out behind her. She pushed her glasses back up her nose with a gloved finger and sucked in a lungful of the fresh, salty air, a smile spreading across her face as her eyes drank in the familiar sight of the beach that stretched out to the left of her. The tide was rushing towards the bank of shingle that edged the shoreline, culminating in a frothy mass, before scurrying back. The usual handful of die-hard early morning surfers were floating on the breakers by the lanky metal legs of the pier. They were always there, whatever the weather, and from this vantage point, dipping in and out of the waves in their shiny black wetsuits, they could easily pass for a bob of seals.
Florrie pedalled harder, spurred on by a surge of exhilaration, her brunette bob fanning out from beneath her red beret. Up ahead, she saw a man wearing a long grey overcoat and flat cap who’d strayed into the cycle lane. His head was bowed and he was ambling along as if he had all the time in the world.
‘S’cuse me!’
She gave a quick jingle of the cycle bell and he jumped out of the way, scowling and almost dropping the mobile phone in his hand.
‘Sorry!’ she said, pulling an apologetic face as she passed, a ping of recognition firing in her mind. It disappeared before she had a chance to catch hold of it and put a name to the face. She frowned; it would niggle her until she remembered where she knew him from.
Florrie loved days like these, invigorating and brimming with optimism. It was as if the small seaside town was emerging from the long winter months, unfurling, fresh and ready to face the new week ahead. Already, her mind was running through the list of jobs she was keen to tackle when she arrived at The Happy Hartes Bookshop. And I know exactly where to start, she thought as the dusty bookshelves piled high with second-hand books in the storeroom pushed for priority. Though she knew her suggestions of what to do with said books would be met with resistance from her boss, Mr Harte, she figured it was always worth a try.
Her nose twitched as the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans pulled her out of her musings. ‘Hi, Nadia.’ She waved at a well-wrapped up young woman who was busy setting out chairs and tables around the Crows’ Nest coffee kiosk. It was situated just next to the steps – all one hundred and ninety-nine of them – that zig-zagged their way up from the bottom promenade; a welcome sight to those who’d braved the climb and finally reached the top, legs aching, gasping for breath and desperate to quench their thirst.

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