Under 100 Followers Club-Blogger only NO SUBSCRIBER BLOGS PLEASE!!

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Under 100 Followers Club-Blogger only NO SUBSCRIBER BLOGS PLEASE!!

Do you UNDER 100 followers on your blog? Then, this club is for you! We can follow each other and help reach 100 followers! NO BLOGS THAT DONT HAVE FOLLOW WIDGET, PLEASE! NO SUBSCRIPTION BLOGS!

Members: 887
Latest Activity: 5 hours ago

Please follow these rules:

Only Follow List enabled blogs (Blogger) are allowed. No "subscribe me" type blogs, please.
When you join, go to members list and join their follow list. Then, comment on their blog and let them know that you are a member and you are now following them.
Note: 100 is the limit, so please let me know when you reach your goal!
(any members starting with over 100 will not be able to participate)

Discussion Forum

2 New blogs, need followers, will follow back

Started by Loubna El Maziati Apr 12, 2013. 0 Replies

I am no where near a 100

Started by Loubna El Maziati Apr 11, 2013. 0 Replies

Happy Birthday to Me Giveaway

Started by Cynthia Tolbert-Wilson Apr 9, 2013. 0 Replies

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You need to be a member of Under 100 Followers Club-Blogger only NO SUBSCRIBER BLOGS PLEASE!! to add comments!

Comment by Granola Grizzly Mama on May 11, 2011 at 12:32am
Thanks Cody. I'm following you!
Comment by Cody Young on May 11, 2011 at 12:25am

I'm following you now, Granola - so you're up to 99!

I'm hoping to get up to fifty this week so come and visit me athttp://www.codyyoungblog.blogspot.com/

I'm a writer mom who has just discovered blogging. Here's the cover of my new release

 

 

They met at a wedding. It was the sound of her laughter that made him turn to look. She stepped gingerly across the lawn in high heels, holding a glass of
champagne. She was one of a trio of pretty young women. The breeze ruffled her
silk dress and threatened to reveal too much. She laughed and kept her modesty,
while Tom Davey lost his heart.

He nudged the groom and asked him for her name.

‘Kristy Ross. She arrived with that doddery old fool from the museum. Blanche’s Uncle Basil.’

Tom smiled. ‘Even her name sounds like kissing.’

‘Had too much bubbly, mate?’

‘Haven’t touched it yet,’ Tom said, ‘but I will.’ He gazed across at her, drinking her in, hoping that a night of sweet intoxication lay in store.

Sober as a judge, Tom planned his attack. He crept into the reception hall before everyone else, and changed the place cards so that he could sit beside her. Poor Uncle Basil ended up miles away, with a
group of stockbrokers and a pair of vegetarians.

Happy as a lark - at Kristy’s side - Tom had a marvellous night. The conversation sparkled and so did her smile, and he made sure her glass was never empty. She worked at the art gallery. He was surprised
he hadn’t seen her there before. She got his joke about Picasso that nobody
ever understood. She was perfect.

She pointed to the name on his place card and raised an eyebrow. ‘Thomson Davey?’ she said. ‘Like the art dealers?’

‘Yeah,’ he said apologetically, and changed the subject.

 

Kristy enjoyed the attention. When Tom took off his jacket and leaned in close, she stole admiring glances at the shape of his shoulders inside his crisp, white
shirt. His dark hair was beautifully cut and his eyes shone with interest. She
was thrilled when he asked for her number.

Neither of them had a pen. He went rushing off to find one, and Kristy turned to her friends, unable to hide her delight. ‘I’m in luck.’

They laughed. ‘Throw him back and bait your hook again.’

Kristy was offended. Tom was charming, well connected, and clever. What more could a woman want?

 

Thomson Davey and Son had a suite of offices in the city, in a building with breathtaking views. Tom had asked her to meet him there for supper.

Kristy was nervous, pressing the button for the top floor, but her doubts slid away as the lift went up. He was there when the doors opened, suave and confident, perfectly at home in the well-appointed
suite. 

‘Amazing artwork,’ she said glancing at the walls in the foyer. She guessed the artist, every time.

‘We have so much in common!’ Tom said, and led her through to a table set for two. With the bright lights of the city glittering below, and the harbour dark and mysterious beyond, they laughed and
linked hands.

Later, he took her up to the rooftop, where it was cold enough to warrant an arm around her shoulders and warm promises in her ear.

‘I want a kiss,’ he said, lips already brushing against her neck.

She shivered. ‘So do I.’

His kiss spoke of nights of aching pleasure and mornings tangled up together in the sunlight.

He drove her home and she fought the impulse to invite him in.

‘Tomorrow?’ he asked her, tracing his fingers along the neckline of her dress. ‘We could spend the whole day together.’

‘I’m at work. Aren’t you? Do art dealers get Mondays off?’

‘Uni doesn’t start for another month.’

She blinked in disbelief.  ‘You teach?’ she said, clutching at straws.

‘No.’

She was going to have to ask him, sooner or later. To learn the unwelcome truth.

‘I’m twenty-something,’ he said, ‘like you.’

‘When?’ she demanded, pushing him away.

‘Next year.’ He looked crestfallen, apologetic.

‘Nineteen! No!’ Kristy went inside and slammed the door. How could she have been so blind?

 

He visited the gallery to see if she’d calmed down, but she was upset and told him to leave. He begged her to reconsider. ‘We’re both adults. What does it
matter?’

‘SEVEN YEARS!’ It came out as a whispered scream that shattered the respectful hush of the gallery. A man turned to smirk at them.

‘You’ve made a fool out of me!’ she hissed.

‘You’ll change your mind,’ Tom said. ‘Call me when you do.’

 

At the reception desk at Thomson Davey, there was a small yellow note taped to the phone. ‘If Kristy calls, notify me immediately, T.D.’

A note bearing this message had lived at the front desk for years.

For seven years.

She had never called. It was a longstanding tradition that the note remained, replaced from time to time on Mr Davey’s instructions. New receptionists learned not to ask questions.

When the call finally came, they missed it.

 

Kristy’s grandmother died that autumn, and the will had to be sorted out. Kristy had been the favourite, so it was a shock that she didn’t get the farm. She got the
painting in the attic.

She remembered it well. Her grandfather didn’t like it, called it a Blotchy Old Shocker. He said it wasn’t a painting at all, just a bunch of daubs here and there. Grandma said if you looked hard
and closed your eyes a little, you could see a pair of lovers leaning against a
tree.

Kristy could see them.

With everything she’d learned from working at the gallery, Kristy suspected it was valuable. But the painting was too large to be packed up and sent to Auckland. She would need to ask someone to go to
the farm to assess it. It had been in the attic for ages, enduring the intense
New Zealand heat. It might be decayed and damaged. It would be embarrassing if
it turned out to be worthless.

She found herself considering phoning Tom. Sweet, engaging Tom who knew all about paintings. He would be twenty-six now. Same age as she had been then. She sighed, and wished she hadn’t aged a single
day, but she had. In the mirror Kristy saw every line, every freckle. Her
figure was more womanly, too, and her heart a little heavier.

 

Tom was in New York when she phoned. Three weeks later, when he was sorting through his messages, he found the scrawled note: ‘Miss Ross called.’ He stared at it
in disbelief.

 

He arrived in a bright red sports car, but his face was sullen. She tried to be as warm and friendly as she could. The years had changed him. He had lost that
coltish look and whip-thin teenage frame. He was broader and taller than she
remembered. A man, not a boy. But there was still a gap that could never be
bridged.

They drove in awkward silence to the farmhouse. She led him up into the attic, murmuring apologies in advance.

Tom brushed the dust off the frame of the painting. He sighed and shook his head.

‘Is it French?’ she asked.

‘You know it is,’ he said.

She felt guilty about the state it was in. ‘The paint’s cracking. Don’t be afraid to tell me the worst.’

‘It’s worth more than the farmhouse,’ he said.

‘No! With all that damage!’

‘Beauty is forever,’ he said, and turned to look at her. ‘Like love.’

‘Don’t, Tom. It was seven years ago.’

‘Then why are you still alone?’

‘I don’t know. I never met the right man.’

‘Yes you did.’

She went to the tiny, cobwebbed window. She tried to open it, but it was rusted up. He came and gave it a shove and let in the air that she needed. She wondered if the sunlight revealed the fine lines
on her face. ‘Surely, Tom, you don’t still carry a torch—’

‘I tried not to. There was a woman in Canada—’

‘I don’t want to hear.’

He paused, and smiled. ‘Then there’s hope.’

‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘Kristy! Will you make me wait another seven years? Shall I come back when you’re forty?’

‘People laugh at couples like us.’

‘Let ‘em laugh. At least we won’t have to cry. Don’t tell me you didn’t because I won’t believe you.’

She couldn’t argue with that.

They hurried downstairs to find a bed. Needy, frantic kisses as they tore each other’s clothes off. Hot, slippery sex that tumbled into stolen pleasure. Tender words of love.

 

They bought a townhouse with a view across the city, and they invited loads of people to the housewarming. Tom was in the kitchen fetching ice when one of the
guests asked the inevitable question.

‘There’s a bit of a gap between you and your wife, isn’t there?’

Tom frowned. ‘We’re seven years apart.’

Kristy heard and came closer. Her hair shone and her dress emphasized the fullness of her body. The bloom of pregnancy gave her a new burst of youthfulness.

‘And three years together,’ she said, squeezing Tom’s hand.

 

 

 

 

http://www.codyyoungblog.blogspot.com/
Comment by Granola Grizzly Mama on May 11, 2011 at 12:19am

I need 2 more followers to leave the group. Please help me out. http://granolagrizzlymama.squarespace.com/

 

I always try to follow back. 

Comment by imnotarunner on May 9, 2011 at 10:35pm
Win a Target, Best Buy, Old Navy and a Banana Republic Gift card, giveaway ends 5/13/11
http://www.whatsanitasdeal.com/?p=1019
VERY LOW ENTRIES
Comment by Maryann G Rhodey on May 9, 2011 at 9:41pm

Thanks to everyone who followed me this weekend!  Hope you all had a wonderful Mother's Day.  Please stop by and visit if you haven't already and if you have, please keep coming back.  You are all fantastic!  

Maryann

http://nonasnotes.blogspot.com

Comment by Kristy Neeley on May 9, 2011 at 5:04pm

Kyna - great idea!  I will be by to see what you have on there.  I will submit some easy recipes when I get a chance.  Have a good one!

 

Comment by Kyna D on May 9, 2011 at 4:21pm

Just started a "Recipe of the Week" series on my blog! Family friendly, inexpensive, and quick recipes for the busy mom! Check it out! I would love some recipe contributions for following weeks as well! I will feature you as a guest recipe blogger and you can get traffic to your blog! Follow me and add a comment if you would like to contribute a recipe!

http://greatexpectations-kyna.blogspot.com/

Comment by Candis on May 8, 2011 at 11:53pm
Happy Mother's Day to all the mommies! Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who visited my blog and is now following! I'm sure I've already returned the favor.
Comment by Cody Young on May 8, 2011 at 6:02pm

Hi I'm Cody, I started my blog in February this year and it's really helping to get the word out there about my books. I love the idea of this community. It really helps get a blog off the ground. I'm a stay-at-home mother of three boys (the youngest are twins) and I just got published, so life is very hectic. Come and visit me at my blog at http://www.codyyoungblog.blogspot.com/

If you decide to follow I'll return the favor.

Comment by imnotarunner on May 8, 2011 at 5:11pm

http://www.whatsanitasdeal.com/?p=1019

Win a $40 gift card to Target! ZERO ENTRIES

ends 5/13/11 at midnight EST

 

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