by Kay Springsteen
“Powerful and engrossing…Kay Springsteen doesn’t just tell a story…she paints it and the end result is outstanding!” — #1NYT Bestselling Author Rachel Van Dyken
So many things can strike a person getting off one of the three ferry services to Mackinac (pronounced Mackinaw) Island in Michigan. I imagine each individual differs in what they notice first. For me, it was the way the island, Main Street in particular, seemed to balance itself between the old and the new. Aside from emergency vehicles, the only wheels that travel about on Mackinac Island belong to bicycles and horse-drawn carriages. A primary mode of travel is by foot.
Mackinac Island is primarily a seasonal destination, starting in the spring and running until the end of October. A few touristy businesses stay open in the off season, but come winter, for the most part, the residents get to enjoy some much deserved down time.
In the height of the season, however, the island is a hustling, bustling atmosphere of charm and fun, with a little something for everyone. But don’t take my word for it. Check it out at http://www.mackinacisland.net/ and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/mackinac/?fref=ts then pencil in some days next year for a stop at this lovely island in Northern Michigan.
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The Real World Visits the Realm of Fiction
My latest novel, Watercolors in the Rain takes place primarily takes place on Mackinac Island, amid the background of 
residents and tourists and activities of the season.
When graphic designer Eve St. Aubin walks into an art exhibit and finds herself in a heated kiss with world renowned artist Kyle Sebastian, her memories whisk her back to the summer they’d shared five years earlier. He’d been her mentor in more ways than one… until he left without a word. Now she has nothing to say to him… or at least that’s what she keeps telling herself.
When he met Eve, Kyle’s career had been in the tank. Lighting the fuse on her talent had rekindled his own artistic ability. Loving her, watching her blossom as a woman had inspired him to new heights. He’d had to let her go back then, but he always knew he’d see her again. Now that he has, he’s not prepared for the edgy woman she’s become, nor did he expect he’d still be in love with her.
When explanations aren’t that simple, and no common ground seems to be had, how will they overcome their past to create a future? Or can they? (Contains adult content and explicit language.)
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Please enjoy this excerpt:
Laughter and applause came from the group standing near the water, and a middle-aged man took a bow. Another man stooped and sorted through the stones, then stood and sent one skipping across the waves.
Plink, plink, plink, pitty-pat, pitty-pat, plonk.
Another cheer rose as the stone ended its skip, swallowed by Lake Huron.
“Let me try!” said one of the women. “Help me find a stone.”
Eve turned away from the scene, and once again their gazes collided, stealing his breath. The little silver glints in her eyes reminded him of sparks rising in a trail of campfire smoke. She stopped laughing abruptly and seemed to struggle for words. Finally, she extended her hand and offered him a pickle.
“Have you done any more sketching yourself?” He accepted the container she offered and popped open the top.
She wrinkled her nose before sinking her perfect tiny teeth into her pickle. “Not really,” she admitted between bites. “Every time I get started something happens to distract me.”
“Did you bring your book?”
Eve’s glance slid to her backpack resting on the ground next to her, but she shook her head. “I did, but like I said, I haven’t done anything lately.”
Without another word, Kyle reached out and lifted her pack, setting it in front of her. “Get it out. And your pencil. I want you to sketch something for me.”
“Um, no. I’m not a trained circus animal. I don’t perform on command.” Eve pushed at the pack with a strong shake of her head. “Besides, I can’t draw under pressure.”
“Have you ever tried?” He nudged the pack in her direction again, hoping it wouldn’t come to him digging her book out himself. The mysteries of a woman’s backpack should remain mysteries.
“I’m not drawing for you.”
Kyle rocked backwards onto his own elbows. “Tell me why you’re so contrary. Are we going to go through this every time I ask you to do something?”
“Go through what?” Irritation leaked into her tone.
Kyle raised his thumb. “I ask.” Then his forefinger. “You refuse.” He added his middle and ring fingers. “I work on you and wear you down.” He lifted his pinky and shrugged. “You do it anyway.” He wiggled his fingers in front of her face.
Eve opened her mouth and drew a breath as though she was going to say something but instead let her breath out and clamped her lips closed. Sensing he was about to win, Kyle pushed himself into a sit again. He nudged the backpack in her direction.
She glared. “You are impossible.”
Kyle leveled a silent gaze on her. She’d cave any second.
“Fine,” she said on a long sigh, and reached into the pack. She opened the sketchpad to a blank page and laid it in her lap. Eyes closed, she only held the pencil loosely. He moved to sit next to her. When she opened her eyes, pencil poised above the paper, she blinked. “I can’t sketch you while you’re sitting right on top of me.”
Yeah, he’d figured she’d make the obvious choice to use him as her subject. But he wasn’t interested in revealing what she might see with her artist’s eye if it fell on him.
Kay Springsteen: The Romance of Your Life 