The main character in Thirty-Nine Again is Sabrina, a forty-year-old accountant and a breast cancer survivor. Because Sabrina is a breast cancer survivor, I’m donating half of all royalties from Thirty-Nine Again to breast cancer awareness charities. I think it’s important for women to realize that breast cancer, and many other cancers that affect women, are very survivable if they are caught early.

After surgery and chemo, Sabrina just wants to get back to her quiet, kind of dull existence. Unfortunately, she discovers her boyfriend is leading a shady double life and winds up on the run from him and his acquaintances in the Mexican Mafia. Along the way, she discovers that Evan, the guy she thought was her personal trainer, is really an undercover agent for Homeland Security. There’s a powerful magnetic attraction between Sabrina and Evan, but she can’t quite credit it. Who in his right mind would find her attractive anymore? Her age and her scars mark her as damaged goods in her own mind, which happens to many women as they get older. In this excerpt, Sabrina is finally becoming confident enough to believe that Evan finds her attractive. I hope this gives you a feel for the romantic tension between these two characters. Enjoy!

“I haven’t thanked you properly for finding me.” My voice came out hoarse, a little bit shaky, as I approached him.

He leaned against the doorframe, his tall figure a black silhouette against the yellowy glow from the bathroom light.

“And is that what this would be then?” He reached out and took a strand of my hair, curling it around his fingers. “A thank you?”

“I don’t know what it would be,” I admitted. “And no, I’m not used to that problem. I never sleep with a guy unless it’s serious. I’m thirty-nine—”

He raised an eyebrow. Oh, hell. Of course he’d read my file.

“Okay, I’m not thirty-nine. Thirty-nine was the year I had cancer. I should let that go, shouldn’t I? That’s what you would say.”

“Would I say that?” I heard a lilting tease in his voice.

“Yes, you would. You were so convincing as a personal trainer because you kept giving me all that peppy, up-beat, focus-on-the-future advice.”

His head tilted a fraction of an inch, but in the dark upper corridor, his expression remained hard to read.

“I’m forty,” I admitted. “I’m an infertile forty-year-old woman with one and a half breasts and an ugly scar, Evan. And I’ve only been with three guys in my whole life, all guys I’d known for several months—or even years—and all guys I believed I would marry. I was wrong every time. So I have no clue what you are to me. But you’re right, I do want you.”

A flash of lightning illuminated the upstairs, blue light streaking all around us. I could see little crinkles around Evan’s eyes when he smiled. He took my hands and kissed the palms.

I caught my breath.

“Evan, I’ve never said that out loud to any man in my entire life,” I told him. “I want you. It would be a very crippling blow to my self-esteem if you reject me now.”

“Oh, I couldn’t reject you.” He pulled me into a tight embrace. “I don’t know how any sane man could.”

He took my hand and walked me into the bedroom. . . .

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This