Novels by Carrie Elise

Oliver stands outside, talking on the phone, his voice low and businesslike. Scotty the mini schnauzer rests on his bed nearby, eyes closed in peaceful contentment. Scarlett takes a break from her own pumpkin to decorate one for Scotty, choosing a smaller gourd for the task. She has a stencil shaped like a dog that resembles a mini schnauzer, and the engrossed dog owner traces it carefully before beginning to carve, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration.Oliver returns from his phone call, his expression relaxed again. "It was a work call. Sorry about that," he says, then pauses to observe Scarlett carving a dog into the pumpkin's surface."It's okay. So, everything is fine, then?" Scarlett asks, glancing up briefly. "I am carving a pumpkin for Scotty—I have a stencil that looks just like him. What do you think?" She giggles while examining her work, then looks adoringly over at the real Scotty. The mini schnauzer wags his tail, drinks some water, and studies his own reflect

It is Wednesday at eight o'clock in the morning, and the air still carries the crisp bite of early fall. Scarlett zips up her light jacket and steps outside with Scotty trotting eagerly at her heels, his leash jingling with each bound. The rolling hills stretch out before them, dotted with trees that have turned brilliant shades of amber and crimson, their fallen leaves scattered like confetti across the ground. Scarlett breathes in deeply, savoring the cool morning air and the quiet stillness of the park before it fully wakes.As she rounds the bend near the neighboring lot, a woman emerges from her RV, coffee mug in hand, and offers a warm smile. The two women introduce themselves, their conversation flowing easily as their dogs sniff and circle one another with cautious curiosity. The neighbor, who calls herself Mrs. Johnson, explains that she and her husband have settled in for the winter season, their little dachshund already proving to be a spirited companion. Scarlett watches

Scarlett returns to New Haven, savoring the quiet beauty of the rural RV park. Maple and pine trees scatter throughout the grounds, their branches also lining the fence that marks its border. The wood fence, rustic yet well kept, stretches between vertical posts joined by two horizontal beams. The maples stand vivid with reddish-orange leaves, their color deepening in the early light. Scarlett's blue truck sits parked once more, home at last from the train station lot, its tires still dusted with dirt from the winding road into the park.She steps out and breathes deeply, feeling the weight of a busy weekend finally lift from her shoulders. Though the trip brought its own kind of joy, she finds herself grateful to return to this tranquil setting, where rolling grassy mountains rise in the distance and colorful trees—red, yellow, purple, and orange—blanket their slopes like a quilt stitched together by the season itself. There's a stillness here that the city can never offer, a peace

Scarlett awakens to Scotty licking her face happily, his grey tail wagging with unrestrained joy. She groans and laughs at once, the sound still thick with sleep. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the tangled sheets, and for a moment she simply lies there, savoring the dog's unfiltered affection. "Alright, Scotty, I'm awake," she says, her voice softening as she relents and rubs his chest, then moves to scratch beneath his well-groomed chin. He leans into her touch, eyes half-closed in contentment, and she feels a quiet gratitude settle over her—for this small, familiar ritual, and for the loyal companion who never fails to greet each morning as though it were the best one yet. Scarlett breathes in the aroma of the potpourri resting on the bedside table, cinnamon and apple mingling in a way that evokes a hearty appetite and reminds her that autumn has arrived. The scent carries her back to childhood kitchens and crisp afternoons, and she lingers in the m

Scarlett and Oliver meet in Times Square, where the atmosphere pulses with energy. Towering billboards flash in every direction, their neon glow washing over the crowds below, but the two quickly realize there isn't a single country bar in sight. Still, caught up in the spectacle, they pause to take some photos together, laughing as they try to fit the dazzling lights into the frame.Scarlett's reddish curls bounce under her suede western hat as she shifts and poses, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the thrill of the city around them. Her grey western boots, adorned with glitter and sparkling sequins shaped like angel wings, catch the streetlight with every step. Her burgundy top with its lacey overlay hides beneath her brown leather jacket. The cool night air surrounds Oliver and Scarlett, and he leans closer as if trying to warm her, his hand brushing hers for a moment before he laces his fingers through hers.His plaid western shirt, a mix of orange, brown, and cream, tucks ne

As Scarlett prepares for a day on the lake in Central Park, she glances at Scotty. His coffee-brown eyes soften, and he wags his grey tail in eager anticipation. She checks her phone for the weather. Hmmm, fifties and sixties. Better dress warmly, already picturing the breeze off the water. She rummages through her suitcase, selecting a crème-colored sweater with a lacey overlay, paired with jeans. She peers into a small hat box tucked inside her pink waterproof suitcase, smiling as she chooses a crème-colored cashmere beret adorned with a flower on the side. It was a gift from her mother, one she treasures for the memories it holds as much as its style.She dresses quickly, recalling that Scotty needs a walk. She slips on her tall brown leather boots, which fall below her knees, the leather creaking pleasantly with each step. Scarlett places maple-colored earrings in each ear, pausing to admire them in the mirror; they remind her of the autumn leaves she cannot wait to see blanketin

Melody and Gage arrive at the harbor side restaurant just as the sun begins its descent toward the water, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. Melody pauses at the entrance, drawing in a slow breath of salt-tinged air, and lets the last of the day’s warmth settle over her shoulders like a familiar embrace. Gage watches her for a moment before offering his arm, his smile betraying a quiet eagerness he hasn’t felt in years. The establishment occupies a weathered building that once served as a fisherman’s warehouse, its exposed brick walls now softened by warm bulbs and trailing ivy. Decades of salt air have worn the timber beams to a silvery gray, yet the space still hums with the echo of old labor, of nets once hauled and catches once weighed. Strings of amber lights crisscross the ceiling, casting a honeyed glow over the room, while the faint clink of glasses and murmur of conversation drift from the tables nearest the water. Melody’s fingers tighten slightly around Gage’

Leo and Mia sit in the backseat of the heated RAV4, seatbelts stretched across their chests and latched securely. The windows have fogged slightly from the warmth inside, creating a cocoon against the crisp morning air. Both children have grown noticeably taller since their summer arrival—their heads simply reach higher in the seats. Melody cruises along the pine-framed two-lane road, her fingers relaxed on the steering wheel. She glances occasionally at the cool autumn sun rising in the pale sky, its light filtering through the towering pines that line both sides of the road. In the rearview mirror, she catches glimpses of the children—Leo staring out the window with quiet contemplation, Mia clutching her new backpack against her chest. Their destination is the elementary school, a single-story red brick building that has stood for decades, weathered and familiar, just a few miles from their home and the beach. Mia shifts in her seat, and Melody hears the small intake of breath tha

Outside the resilient, dome-shaped cottage of pastel blue and dark blue shutters, the Caldwell sisters stand in the cool, misty air. Emerald Isle's grey-blue ocean swells, rise high and dissipate at the white sandy shore. A hidden sun remains out of sight, not even peeking behind the gloomy clouds. Heavy salt runs stronger in the air, this Sunday morning. Melody can taste it on her tongue and feel it in her nares. A light wind tugs at their hair and sleeves. It's nearly September, and something about the changing season presses on them both, unspoken but shared.Melody wraps her lavender cardigan tighter, her white Sunday dress, ruffles in the thick sea breeze. Her eyes fix on the horizon as though she might find an answer there. Harmony sporting grey slip on sneakers, shifts her weight from foot to foot. One hand rests on her designer suitcase handle, the other smoothes over her denim capris, as she twists her mouth side to side. Neither speaks. The silence between them holds years o

The evening sun dips toward the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. A cool breeze sweeps across the deck, carrying with it the salty tang of the ocean and the lingering sweetness of birthday cake. For the first time in years, Melody felt genuine satisfaction settle in her chest—a lightness that came from knowing her ex-husband had finally been brought to justice. She is divorced, free, and ready to celebrate.The deck still bears the cheerful chaos of the birthday party. Green and blue streamers twisted in the wind, their metallic surfaces catching the fading light. Balloons bobbed and swayed, some already beginning to deflate. On one table sat tubs of chocolate and vanilla ice cream, their contents melting slowly in the warm evening air. A metal scooper rested beside them, abandoned. The centerpiece was a dissected three-layer cake decorated with a nautical theme—sharks, fish, anchors, and ocean waves adorned each tier. The blue vinyl tablecloth rippled

Melody attends Blaze's court hearing online from her sunroom, where open windows invite the rhythmic sounds of the ocean inside and enable the sun rays to leak in. The mid-morning sun, warm and peachy, rests above the deep blue waters, casting a gentle glow that seems to soften the world's edges. Its light dances across the rippling surface, creating patterns of gold and amber that shifts with each passing wave. The warmth touches everything it reaches, a tender embrace that promises the day will unfold with quiet grace. She watches waves roll forward and kiss the shore. Therapeutic music fills the space. It's gentle tune—calming guitar strings, flute, and piano—reaches through her soul like a balm, soothing her anxious mind. Each note untangles the knots of tension that have gathered in her chest. The guitar's warm resonance reminds her of simpler times, while the flute's airy whisper seems to carry away her worries. As the piano joins in with soft, deliberate chords, she feels her

Gage recovers slowly, his strength returning day by day. The wound on his head—where Blaze struck him with a metal rod during last week's hurricane—still shows bruising that has faded from brown to yellow. A small gash, sealed with liquid stitches, marks the spot where the blow landed. His mild concussion has resolved, though the memory of that moment still haunts him in quiet hours.He finds himself grateful for small victories: standing without dizziness, reading without the words blurring together, sleeping through the night without waking to phantom pains. Each morning brings subtle improvements that he catalogs carefully, as if documenting his own resurrection. The physical healing progresses steadily, but something deeper troubles him—a vulnerability he hadn't known before, a newfound awareness of how quickly everything can shatter.Gage sits in the sunroom with Melody as she awaits the divorce hearing online. Her fingers drum nervously against the armrest, a rhythm only he seem

A few hours later, a knock sounds at the door. Paxton stands on Gracie's porch with Delilah, grinning ear to ear and holding a bouquet of flowers. The beaming amber sun casts a warm glow across the cabin's front porch, sending a glimmer into Gracie's emerald green eyes. Paxton recalls Addeleine's green eyes, and a heavy weight spreads across him. A churning rises in his heart, whilst an old angst surfaces in his gaze. Gracie notices his eyes transition into a somber expression, and an apparent strain, tightens his jaw., forming a grimace. She tilts her head, and only her eyes send a silent message: are you ok? He shifts his stance, causing his brown western boots to thud lightly against the wooden porch. One hand falls to his metal belt buckle, which holds his slim blue jeans snug against his athletic legs. His green button-up western shirt hangs partially unbuttoned, exposing reddish curled hairs beneath. He nods, tipping his beige cowboy hat in the process, then pushes the memory as

Paxton seated in his silver mustang reading her reply. A smile spreads across his face. "Sure, that will be great—do you want to go out for dinner, or catch a movie or something?" As he types, he glances up and freezes: an old girlfriend, someone he once loved deeply, walks by. He steps out of the car to greet her, and they fall into a warm embrace. He breathes in the familiar scent of her hair, and the old spark—one ignited years ago, before she'd left for college—flares unexpectedly to life. He inhales slowly, trying to steady the sudden rush of feeling. She pauses before him, her long brown hair catching the sunlight in a soft shimmer. Standing a few inches shorter than him, she meets his eyes, her own emerald gaze softening as he notices her sun-darkened skin. "Hey, how are you? It's been a while since I've seen or heard from you." He takes a deep breath in and releases. "Did you finish school? Are you just visiting, or did you move back home?" "Oh, Paxton, I'm sorry I had to lea

Hours later, morning arrives, though no sunlight breaks through the windows—only a dark, gloomy overcast sky. Paxton rises, announcing he needs to get to work. Gracie feels more rejuvenated than she expected and decides she might spend the day indoors, given the weather. She opens the curtains and blinds to watch the rain trace little rivulets down the glass. Gracie listens to its steady pitter patter against the metal roof, finding comfort in the sound.Gracie opens the front door and breathes in the fresh scent of wet grass and mud. Gunner bolts outside and quickly becomes soaked, mud clinging to his paws and belly. Gracie laughs. "Gunner, I'm giving you a bath!" The German Shepherd releases a low, playful bark, as if in agreement, and follows her obediently to the bathroom.A short while later, Gunner emerges fresh and clean. Gracie rubs him down with a towel and attempts to finish the job with a blow dryer, but he tucks his head and lowers his tail between his legs in protest. H

The following week, Gracie arrives at the blood drive to donate. Paxton sits beside her, donating as well, his sleeve rolled up and his jaw set in quiet concentration, as if the small pinch of the needle were some trial he resolved to endure without complaint. The vinyl bed feels cold beneath her, and the room smells of iodine, disinfectant, and something faintly sterile that makes her nose wrinkle. Gracie pulls an orange and plaid flannel shawl over herself, grateful for its warmth against the clinical chill of the room.She glances over at Paxton, and a small, nervous laugh escapes her when she catches him already looking back. He finishes first and waits nearby. Paxton watches her with a quiet, steady attentiveness that makes her feel both comforted and slightly self-conscious. His gaze stirs up a mix of emotions. When the technician finally removes her needle and presses a cotton ball to the crook of her arm, Gracie exhales, relieved the worst part is over. She rises too quickl

About an hour later, Gracie pulls up to Paxton's house, only ten minutes from her own. He lives in a well-kept neighborhood where the homes sit comfortably spaced apart, each with tidy, manicured lawns. His house looks fairly new, built with white stone, beige stucco, and white board-and-batten siding, complete with an inviting front porch. It isn't as large as some of the neighboring homes, likely somewhere between twelve and sixteen hundred square feet, but the yard is beautifully landscaped with green grass, trees, bushes, and a scattering of flowers. Given his career in real estate, Gracie suspects he has taken care to arrange the curb appeal just right. She and Gunner hop out of the jeep and walk up to knock on the front door. Paxton greets them with open arms."Howdy, Gracie. Glad to see you made it. Delilah is in her room," he says, pulling her into a hug before letting them inside. He leads them toward Delilah's room to let Gunner in. The door is barn-style, split into top an

It's Wednesday in mid-October. A cool air surrounds her despite the warm sun beaming high in the sky, its light scattered across a blue expanse dotted with puffy clouds. Gracie hums softly to herself as she moves through her room, already anticipating the day ahead. A mix of excitement and nerves spread through her body. She sprays a wild raspberry scent over herself, the sweet fragrance lightly moistening her blue jean overalls and burnt orange top. For a moment, she pauses, breathing in the scent and letting it settle her thoughts. Then she sits on the edge of her bed and laces her steel-toe boots, tightening them with practiced precision before looping the laces into a neat bow. There's a quiet determination in her movements, as though each small ritual brings her one step closer to facing whatever the day might hold. Before leaving for today's endeavors—volunteering at a charity house-building event—she lets Gunner enjoy some playtime outside. He bounds across the yard with unres