Sorcha in Snowflakes
A beautiful painter, Sorcha Rosenbloom, meets the mysterious man she has drawn in her sketchbook, Alexander Macklin who owns a painting of hers, a self-portrait of her standing in the forest with snow falling. Their love story combines a magical destiny and fate in a contemporary urban setting.
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A little excerpt:
Bob scratched his chin. “I gotta confess – most modern art confuses me. I’m just not really into it. Sorry.” He turned away to order a drink.
Her mouth hung open in shock. How could a human not like art? What was wrong with him? Art was the heartbeat of the human race, it was everything. She filled her cheeks with air and crossed her eyes at him. Vicky saw it and tried hard not to laugh.
“Are you feeling okay?” said a deep voice.
Sorcha flinched in surprise and looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man in a business suit. He looked at her with beautiful golden-brown eyes that had crinkles in the corners. His dark blond hair was messy as if he had just run his fingers through it, his face was all chiseled lines with a strong nose but he had a kind smile.
She gave him an apologetic, embarrassed grin. Probably thought she was crazy making silly faces and, of course, she had to be caught being a goof by a man so handsome he made little butterflies dance in her stomach.