Thursday, 5 September 2013

Blog Tour ~ Finding Olivia ~ Micalea Smeltzer

How far would you go to find yourself?

That’s the question that’s been haunting Olivia Owens for years.

All Olivia has ever wanted to do is live and make mistakes, but her preacher father has made that impossible. She believes that her years at college will be her ticket into the real world and her chance to be wild and spontaneous.

But she’s never been able to do it on her own.

At the start of her sophomore year, she only has four things crossed off her Live List, but that’s all about to change thanks to a chance encounter with Trace Wentworth. She’s about to learn that there’s more to this reformed bad boy than just his looks and panty dropping smile.

Trace can’t explain what it is that draws him to Olivia.

All he knows is that he wants to get to know the girl with the sad smile but sparkle in her eyes.

When she tells him about her list, he knows that this is his chance to get to know Olivia Owens. Trace is determined to show Olivia that she can do all the things she’s ever wanted to do. So, he begins to help her cross things off her list, even the more outlandish requests.

What happens along the way is more than what Olivia or Trace ever expected.

Love, laughs, and a list.

That’s the name of the game when you’re Finding Olivia.

Micalea Smeltzer is an author from Virginia. Her name is pronounced Muh-call-e-uh. She is permanently glued to her computer, where she constantly writes. She has to listen to music when she writes and has a playlist for every book she’s ever started. When she’s not writing, she can be found reading a book or playing with her three dogs.

You can email Micalea at:

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“No, no, no, no!” I beat my steering wheel with the heel of my hand. “No! You’ve got to be kidding me!” I pulled off the road, my tire bumping along.
I put my car in park and climbed out to assess the damage.
My feet crunched on the gravel scattered alongside the road.
Immediately, the oily burnt smell of my peeling tire met me.
Calling this a flat tire didn’t do it justice. This was complete and utter carnage.
I looked behind me, at the trail of tire pieces leading straight to my car, like a path of breadcrumbs.
It was starting to get dark and this wasn’t exactly the safest road.
I was also a twenty-year-old girl, ripe for the picking.
I kicked the side of my car. “I don’t have time for this!”
I stalked around the back, to the trunk, lifting it and looking for the necessary tools to change a tire.
Which was pointless because, unfortunately, I didn’t know the first thing about changing a tire. My father had made sure that I only knew how to do a woman’s work.
I slammed the trunk closed and stalked back to the driver’s side, pulling at the ends of my hair. I glared at the offending nail, that had to be four inches long, sticking out of the tire. How many nails did people drive over a day and I was the one to get a flat freakin’ tire?
Not cool.
Not at all.
I opened the door and reached for my phone to call my roommate to come pick me up.
The sky was darkening and I didn’t want to be stranded here.
I wrapped my lightweight jacket tighter around my body, as the wind gusted around me, blowing leaves off of the nearby trees. I watched the red, yellow, and orange leaves fall down and scatter over my car. One, unfortunately, got caught in my hair. I reached up and pulled it out before letting it drift to the ground.
Gravel crunched behind me. I turned quickly, to see a guy getting out of a black car that looked like something old, but classic.
I hadn’t even heard him pullover.
I backed a step away, thinking he might be a murderer, or a rapist.
But when I got a look at his face I was stunned.
He was tall, with a lean body, but muscular. He had short, dark brown, almost black, hair and the greenest eyes I had ever seen. Five o’ clock shadow covered his cheeks and chin. My eyes trailed down, over the white t-shirt glued to his chest, and stopped there. I could see black ink underneath the white shirt and licked my lips. The fact that he had tattoos only made him hotter. To protect against the cold, he was wearing a long-sleeved plaid shirt.
“Uh-can I help you?” He asked, smiling pleasantly at me, and putting my earlier fears about him being a murderer or rapist completely to rest.
Help? With what? I needed help?
He grinned crookedly, tilting his head. “With your tire. Do you need some help?”
He had the deepest, huskiest, voice I had ever heard. I shivered at the sound. I was pretty sure I’d be happy for him to help me with a lot of things, and none of them included my tire.
“Help would be great,” I blushed, ducking my head.
He chuckled. “You do have a spare, right?”
“Yeah, it’s in the trunk,” I pointed, like he didn’t know where the trunk was.
He grabbed the spare, and all the necessary tools and sat down, next to the ruined tire.
“I-uh-would’ve changed it myself, but-uh-my dad never taught me,” I ran my fingers nervously through my wavy brown hair. “He said something about it not being appropriate for a girl to do and if I ever got a flat tire, I better hope Prince Charming came along. My dad’s very-uh-old fashioned,” I stammered.
He looked up at me. “Does that make me Prince Charming?” He grinned.
“Oh-uhm-Prince Charming is fictional, so I guess not, and he-uh-usually rides a white horse or something… I think.”
Somebody, stamp AWKWARD across my forehead already.
The guy threw his head back and laughed. “I guess a shiny black 69’ Camaro doesn’t count as a white horse. You watch a lot of Disney movies or something?”
“No,” I blushed tomato red. “At least not anymore.”
“You’re funny,” he squinted up at me, shielding his eyes from the orange glow of the setting sun.
“I hope that’s a good thing,” I muttered. Unfortunately, I wasn’t trying to be funny.
“It’s a very good thing-” He paused, waiting for my name.
“Oh-uh-Olivia. Olivia Owens.”
“I’m Trace,” he reached a hand up to me and I took it. It was warm and calloused, swallowing mine whole. “Trace Wentworth,” he grinned when my hand jerked at his touch.

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