Quotes from Tanya Anne Crosby

Have fun, she wanted to say, but it might sound dismissive, so she said nothing. He took her silence as a sign of her disappointment to being deprived the glory of his presence. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't be late. Why don't you put on a little sumpin' sumpin' and surprise me.

She peered up at the red spatter on the ceiling—as though she needed reminders—and lifted a hand to her forehead, pressing a finger against the scar. "You can't even please yourself;

filled with flawed characters, and brimming with emotion. Set in Sullivan's Island, South Carolina, this book takes me home and is both deeply personal and intensely satisfying, in terms of pushing the storytelling envelope. In a sense, I've opened a vein with Zoe's story. I hope you'll enjoy her and pull for her as

you. Once again, my new novel The Girl Who Stayed is something different for me, although with the same voice my readers have come to anticipate. I believe that people are pretty much the same, regardless of era, physical space, or culture, and this is the essence of my storytelling. I strive for characters you will relate to, no matter where or when they may have lived. The Girl Who Stayed is also a book of the heart and I couldn't be more thrilled to see

It was 4:00 p.m. Chris would be in his car, she was pretty certain, watching Boss Man pull out of the parking lot. He would wait a few seconds to be certain the

You can't even please yourself; how can you please a lover, Zoe?

Mentally going through everything she had placed in the car, Zoe moved toward the kitchen. Angrily, she ripped off a paper towel and leaned over the stove

She would walk toward him, sniffing the air around him, like a hound. He smelled of alcohol—not

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He who loses his head, loses,

Zoe to move along. In the bathroom, she snatched a bottle of 600 ml. Ibuprofen—given to her at the hospital. She didn't need it, but it had her name on it, and while nearly everything she owned would inevitably be left behind, the bottle was her prescription with her name on it. It had to go. She dumped

In the guest room she snagged a little bobble-head donkey—given to her by her nieces—and a painted wooden brush that lay neatly on a mirrored tray that was set out for guests who never came. The bristles were free of hair, except for

Starting over didn't have to be scary or painful if you looked at it for what it was—a clean slate, a chance to create something entirely different, a chance to discard all things that weren't in sync with personal philosophies. Hope. That's what it gave her most.

whom I first had the pleasure of working with while at Avon Books. It's also my very first non-genre novel, although you will find it a signature Tanya Anne Crosby read, filled with flawed characters, and brimming with emotion. Set in Sullivan's Island, South Carolina, this book takes me home and is both deeply personal and intensely satisfying, in terms of pushing the storytelling envelope. In a sense, I've opened a vein with Zoe's

Open account. Transfer money. Pack. The words burned through the screen onto the titanium, branding Zoe's thighs. "Yeah.""Mind if I go out for

yes was bound to start a fight. After all these years, Zoe realized it was all in how things

In the center of the kitchen hung a wrought iron pot hanger

What time will you be home?" she'd

Zoe swallowed, wishing she hadn't started the list on her

If the house were on fire, what would you save? The cat? The computer? The only existing picture of your dead sister? Rather, the question should be: What would you be willing to lose? For Zoe Rutherford the answer was: everything.

His charm would get him just so far. Three

There were a number of spots on the backsplash as well, behind the oven, which might have easily been the remnants of a fat, juicy steak, but if they tested the blood Zoe was pretty sure they'd find human DNA. The spatters had been there about a week now. Neither she nor Chris had bothered to wipe them off—Zoe, because

Directly above her head, blood peppered the ceiling, a "castoff" spray that permeated the pimply white paint. It

It wasn't good for the soul, she reminded herself, to dwell in anger. Too oft it only hurt the bearer, because the receiver was scarce aware, or didn't care anyway.