Site icon Whimsical Publishing

The Crafting Con: Chapter One is HERE!

Hannah Greentree
Open me for DETAILS ON “The Crafting Con’s release week, and all the fun we have planned! ✨

Greetings Gentle Reader from the Land of Whimsical!

This newsletter is packed full of excitement! 🎉 Scroll on to read all about it, including the following deets:

🩷The Crafting Con is almost here!!🩷

We are so excited for you guys to FINALLY meet Ava and Declan! 🥰 This has been long-awaited and we are having the best time getting these orders packed up for you guys! Remember, you have only THREE DAYS left to get your pre-order in to get all of these wonderful pre-order goodies. Check out some of the perks below!👇

Too CUTE right?! AND you can step up your pre-order game even more by getting the exclusive LIMITED-EDITION copy as well!🤩💗

I mean seriously, are those not the cutest sprayed edges you’ve ever seen!?🥹 We are STILL obsessing over these final copies!!😍💖

GRAB YOUR COPY HERE!

Need some more information on what to expect from this YA contemporary romance?💘

Check out the blurb:

Ava Aimes idolizes her nerdtastic father, but when he ditches her mom for his soulmate—a move that turns her mother into the walking dead—she vows to give up the geek life forever. She won’t let anything remind them of what they’ve lost, even if it means saying goodbye to her best friend, Declan. Their memories are tied too closely to her traitor dad.

Five years later, that vow begins to chafe as Ava moves toward the end of junior year. Pep club? Check. Potential Greek god prom date? Reluctant check. Gaze fixed firmly away from where her ex-bestie sits on the other side of the room? Not-so-check. The urge to be at his side is strong, but is it worth risking her mom’s newfound happiness for a chance at her own?

Declan Greene is so over his childhood crush. He barely even registers Ava’s existence tucked in the center of the popular crowd. His sole focus is on the workshop he’s running at the upcoming anime convention. If all goes well, it could lead to a high-profile collab with the area’s leading prop-maker, an opportunity he’ll do anything to secure.

But when his crafting partner backs out three weeks before the con, and Ava shows up as his replacement, Declan will either have to accept her help or chance losing the workshop altogether. He needs it to succeed, but will spending time together rekindle the feelings he’s spent years putting to rest?

Also, we have a super fun week planned for the release of “The Crafting Con” which includes:
And don’t forget, the preorder incentives are only available for THREE more days!
GRAB YOUR COPY HERE!

Now, are you ready for a sneak peek? 👀 Here it is, the first chapter of “The Crafting Con”, our very first YA contemporary romance! 💖

The Crafting Con: Chapter One

Twenty-one days until OA Con

There’s a six-foot-wide Tetris grid of neatly labeled shoeboxes staring me in the face as I teeter tiptoed atop my stool. And, for the life of me, I can’t remember what I was looking for because all I can see is that singular blank one. Black lid, black-and-white checkered base; once home to a pair of pink Vans twelve-year-old me saved four months of allowances to purchase. Twin to a green pair down the street whose owner has surely outgrown them. I certainly haven’t seen him wearing them.

Declan and I haven’t spoken since I ended things five years ago.

I wonder if he even remembers we were friends?

“Earth to Ava. You gonna grab those glitter pens anytime soon, or are you having too much fun showing off your sweet calves?” Stasia’s bemused voice snaps me back to the present, and I suck in a steadying breath as she comes up behind me, craning her neck to peer up at the stocked closet shelves. “I mean, I get it. You run these Sammamish hills like a friggin’ beast, and your legs have the muscles to prove it, but Sal’s stops serving breakfast at noon, and I need my pancake fix, like, yesterday.”

I force a laugh, mentally applauding my acting skills when it comes out almost natural. “As if you couldn’t sweet-talk them into making you some at any given moment. You’ve got that entire kitchen staff wrapped around your pinkie.” My gaze lingers on the black-and-white box a beat longer, then reluctantly shifts to the others, and I read the carefully printed block letters that inventory every last item stored inside. Assorted ribbons, embroidery floss, thread, felt, hot glue sticks. Where are those glitter pens?

“You’re not wrong,” Stasia concedes, abandoning her spot at my side in favor of belly flopping across the lavender comforter spread over my queen-sized bed. She’s scrolling through her phone as she says, “Oh, hey, lacrosse practice wrapped up early. Ben’s looking to get food—is it cool if I invite him to join us?”

“Sure.” I’m only half listening, still searching for the elusive glitter pens. “You know I love Ben.”

Stasia snorts. “Dude, you’re lucky I’m not the jealous type. Most girls don’t wanna hear their super-hot, blonde bestie say they love their boyfriend.”

I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see my face. “You know I didn’t mean it that way. Not that it would matter. Ben is so gone for you, I’m not even sure he notices I’m there half the time.”

“He is pretty obsessed, isn’t he?” Stasia hums as she taps away at her phone’s screen. Texting Ben, no doubt.

“In the most uncreepy and non-stalkerish way possible.” My gaze falls on a brown box decorated with a simple white label that reads gel pens and glitter glue. I grin. “There you are.” Naturally, said box is on the very bottom of the shoebox stack. Directly underneath—my pulse flutters—the checkered one. My fingers brush the unlabeled box for one nerve-tingling moment before gently tugging the one below, attempting to wiggle it free of the grid.

“Ben wants to know if Tyler can come too? They drove to practice together.”

I hesitate, hand pausing mid-pull. Do I want Tyler to be there? If he comes, and it’s just the four of us, it’ll feel suspiciously like a double date disguised as a group hang. Something Stasia and Ben have been not-so-subtly pushing for, the idea of their two best friends hooking up the final box to check on their perfect couple bingo card. Even Tyler seems to be leaning into it.

So why does my stomach turn to lead at the thought?

“Tyler Denning? The captain of the lacrosse team?” My mom’s voice comes out of nowhere, bright and perky. After all these years, I still love how happy it sounds. “Oh, he is cute. That wavy blond hair and all those muscles? He could give Zack Morris a run for his money, he’s so swoony. Absolutely invite him.”

My grip tightens, and I glance over my shoulder to find her setting a basket of folded laundry on the bed next to Stasia, who looks up at her with the indulgent grin she saves especially for my mother. She tilts her head, her straight brown hair cascading over one shoulder while she feigns confusion. “Zack Morris? Who’s that?”

Mom’s lips purse, and she wags her finger at Stasia. “Don’t make me enforce another Saved by the Bell marathon. You know I’ll do it.”

“Ooh, that Zack Morris.” Stasia nods. “The curly-haired nerd who wore all those circus pants and suspenders. Now I remember.”

“Not. Funny.” Mom gives Stasia one last glare before swinging her laser-focused gaze my way. And I swear there are actual stars dancing in her eyes as she beams up at me. “I knew that boy liked you, the way he kept looking over at us during Thursday’s game.” She claps her hands together. “I bet he’s going to ask you to prom! Oh my gosh, the picture the two of you would make. I could die happy with that photo gracing my mantel.” She sighs, visions of evening gowns and prom poses no doubt filling her head.

My shoulders tense, and I jerk the box free in one fell swoop.

It does not come quietly.

A cascade of cardboard comes pouring off the shelf, and I stumble backward, falling off the step stool to land solidly on my butt. Thank God for the mid-twentieth-century wall-to-wall carpeting craze that my mom has yet to update despite her top-tier real estate cred. The plush cream fibers minimize the sting to my backside. They do not, however, prevent the corner of a rogue box from nailing me in the forehead. A pain that is all but forgotten when said box bursts open, spilling its contents across the floor.

The checkered box.

The one I packed with shaking hands and tear-stained cheeks five years ago.

The pieces I was too weak to throw in the fire.

I can’t move. Or breathe, for that matter. My brain screams for me to do something, that Mom is right behind me, witnessing this betrayal, but the message shorts out well before it reaches the rest of me. All I can do is stare at the spread of glossy photos half-buried under a hodgepodge of old convention badges, costume accessories, and—my heart stutters—a fraying, pink-and-green friendship bracelet. My fingers twitch, the sweetest ache whispering to life in my chest.

The urge to scoop it up and slip it over my wrist hits strong.

I force my gaze away, and it lands on a four-by-six-inch image of two gangly-limbed kids with their arms flung over each other’s shoulders, matching grins spread across their PNW-pale faces. Foam armor hanging from their skinny frames. Colorful badges dangling from lanyards around their necks. Two skinny little nerds living their best geek lives.

I can’t remember the last time I felt that free, that…

I frown, brushing the thought away, scrambling to sweep the incriminating items up and shove them back into their box. A quick glance at my mom sends further shards of guilt straight into my gut. The expression on her face as she stares, wide-eyed and stricken, reminds me why this box lacks a label. Why it hasn’t been opened in all these years.

I’m not even supposed to have it in the first place.

Even with his presence—quite literally—cut out of every image, my dad’s mark still lingers, tainting each smiling scene. Conventions were his stage, his shining moments of stardom. To everyone else in the world, he was just a handsome nerd, good for a laugh or a bit of breezy conversation. But in the anime realm, he was a rock star, preening for a mass of rabid fans. One of whom he opted to ditch his family for.

They say you should never meet your heroes. Kind of hard to avoid when you’re their kid. I’ve done a pretty good job of it these last five years, though, dodging calls and leaving texts on read. The fact that he moved three thousand miles away and I was already old enough to legally choose where I spent my time didn’t hurt. He gets me for two weeks every summer, and that’s only because I don’t want him coming out here and seeing Mom. An arrangement he seems more than happy to go along with.

Good riddance to that.

I shove the mess back into the checkered box and slide the entire thing into the closet out of sight. I rub my head where the corner struck, grimacing comically as I turn around. “I think that’s a sign that making locker posters for pep club can wait. Pancakes cannot.” I avoid Mom’s gaze, focusing on Stasia instead. “You ready to go?”

Stasia raises a sculpted brow, her brown eyes glimmering with a curiosity that makes me want to run and hide. “You know it,” she says, thankfully holding her inevitable questions for a more private location. She hops off the bed and steps around the mess of boxes littering my otherwise spotless floor. Her manicured fingers wrap around my bicep, and she draws me toward the bedroom door while flashing a bright grin at my silent mother. “Sorry, Mrs. A, but I’m gonna have to steal your daughter for a bit.” She pauses in the doorway, and whispers loudly, “But don’t worry, I’m totally on top of the whole prom date thing, so feel free to start scouting photo locales. This girl is going to share Benny’s and my limo if it kills me.”

Mom’s face relaxes into a hesitant smile, and the guilt lining my stomach eases at the sound of her soft laughter. “I’m counting on you, Stasia.”

Stasia fires off a quick salute. “I won’t let you down,” she calls, ushering me down the hall toward the stairs. My steps lighten with relief, and I playfully smack Stasia’s arm.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“Please,” Stasia scoffs, swinging her hips while she saunters to the front door. Rare glints of spring sunshine cut through the decorative glass and paint rainbows across her glossy hair. “Your mother’s the one who shouldn’t be encouraging me. I swear, I will have you in that limo with me if I have to tie you up and deck you out myself. A shoo-in for prom queen, and you don’t even have a date. What the actual heck, Ava? And don’t tell me no one’s asked you, ’cause I know for a fact you shot down both John Allen and Noah Sanders. Both of whom would have filled out the requisite tuxes exceptionally well, by the way.”

I shake my head, taking a moment to pull down the sleeves of my pale blue sweater as we step outside. The air is still on the chilly side, despite the sunshine bathing my face. “I barely know either of them. It would have been weird.” I jog down the front walk toward the street, where Stasia’s white Toyota Camry is parked so close to the curb it’s practically scraping cement. “Shotgun!”

Stasia clicks the unlock on her key fob as she moves around to the driver’s side. “You know you don’t have to call shotgun when you’re the only passenger, right?”

I yank the door open and slide inside with a grin. “But it’s so much fun to say.”

Stasia chuckles, shaking her head while she snaps her seat belt into place. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not gonna work.” She casts me a knowing glance. “What was up with the memory box, and why was that the first time I saw it?”

“What, that old thing?” I wave a dismissive hand. “Just a bunch of junk from before the divorce. I’m not even sure why I bothered saving it in the first place.”

Stasia makes a noncommittal noise, and the car lurches forward when she hits the gas with all the subtlety of a drunk monkey. “Didn’t seem like junk to me. Or to you, judging from your reaction when it spilled open. You looked like you were a breath away from stress-barfing.”

I shrug, turning to stare out the window. “I just don’t like reminding my mom about those days, is all.”

“The dark days,” Stasia murmurs, and I nod without looking at her. We weren’t friends back then, but we’ve gotten close enough since that I’ve shared the gist of my parents’ less-than-shining history. Not to the full extent—nothing that would paint my mom in a bad light. Those memories remain firmly locked away, privy only to me. And, of course, there’s the other detail I’ve failed to mention. One that still brings a flush of shame to my cheeks when I linger on it.

“The boy in the photo,” Stasia says. Did she read my mind? “He looked familiar. Do I know him?”

My throat thickens when we pass a gray, two-story home framed by a mix of maple and pine trees. The garage door stands open, and I can hear the faint hum of music coming from inside. I strain my ears, but I can’t quite make out the song. I’d bet anything it’s something with a brass beat. He always listens to ska when he’s crafting.

Just like I always pass by without stopping.

“Probably,” I whisper, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “He goes to our school. In fact, I’m pretty sure you guys have PE together.”

“Wait, what?” Stasia looks at me in surprise, and I yelp when the car veers to the side.

“Do you need me to drive?”

“What I need is for you to tell me who, exactly, we’re talking about,” Stasia replies, although she does, thankfully, return her attention to the road where it belongs. “Who’s your secret nerd buddy?”

“He’s not a nerd.”

“Um, okay. Pretty sure dressing up as cartoon characters is the definition of nerdy. No hate, just saying.”

“Anime isn’t cartoons,” I mutter, and Stasia raises a brow. Yeah, kind of walked into that one. I sigh. “Fine. We were nerds. But it doesn’t really matter who he is, because we aren’t even friends anymore.”

Stasia’s fingers drum along the steering wheel. “The name, Ava, or I continue this interrogation over breakfast with Ben and Tyler as witnesses.”

I blanch. “Whatever, it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. Lots of people have childhood friends they grow apart from.”

“Spit it out already, Aimes.”

“Fine,” I huff. “It’s Declan Greene. There. Happy now?”

Stasia’s brow furrows in thought, and I can almost see the wheels spinning in that diabolical brain of hers. “Declan Greene…” Her eyes light up when recognition strikes. “Ooh, skinny band boy.” Her lips tilt in a calculating smile, and she glances my way. Are we going too fast for me to safely tuck and roll out of the car? “He’s cute in a band-geek kind of way. Not who I would have pictured you with, but now that I am, I’m kind of digging the vibe.”

“Well, you can go ahead and stop, ’cause Declan and I are not, nor will we ever be, a thing. We’re not even friends anymore.” I made sure of that when I tore out his twelve-year-old heart and stomped all over it. Abandoning him the same way my dad abandoned me. There’s just no coming back from a betrayal like that.

Even if you wanted to.

Are y’all just as excited as us!?🤩🥳

Trust us, you’re gonna want to see how this story ends! Hurry, go preorder your copy now so that you can still get it with all of the bonus gifts, before they’re no longer available!!🛒

GRAB YOUR COPY HERE!

Don’t forget all of this fun!

Alright, all that being said, here’s the summary of dates… don’t forget!

As always, thank you all so much for supporting our journey thus far. We’re a small team and we appreciate and see all your comments, messages, and orders. As a family run press, it means the world! 

Until next time,
Whimsical Publishing 🩷🦩

Exit mobile version