Pinpoint
The Point Series
by Olivia Luck
Release Date: June
2016
Genre: New
Adult
From
The Book Junkie Reads . . . Pinpoint (Pinpoint, #4) . . .
Promising chef and aspiring baker. Oscar and Iris have an world presented to them that they both, in their own way, are trying to find their own place in. Exhilarating, pleasant read at understand who one is and the learning the world around them.
Life had thrown many challenges at Iris. She has had to find ways to make her life more than the box she had been closed into. She finds that she was not really living life. Not until she had an encounter with Oscar. Oscar was just a man that had his own doubts about the world. He was a bit of an arse, but he was able to open up a new world to Iris. Give her options and experiences she had not had before.
My first read with Olivia Luck went very well. I was so drawn in to this one with the sweet but earnestness that I want the others of this series. I just cannot envision you being disappointed with this read. I was captivating from the beginning all the way to the end.
**This ARC was provided via Book Enthusiast
Promotions in exchange for an honest review.**
Point series:
New Point – Point, #1
Pressure Point – Point, #2
Point of No Return – Point, #3
Pinpoint – Point, #4
BLURB
All my life I followed the rules. I lived under the iron rule of
my father and did what was expected of me.
Until now.
I want to live in the big city. Make new friends. Get a great job.
Meet a man that makes me swoon. Fall in love.
Sounds straightforward enough, but making my way in a city of six
million isn’t as seamless as I'd hoped. And the man is more sour than sweet.
Something’s got to give. And this time it won’t be me.
Prologue
A piercing cry echoed through the delivery room as the baby came
into the world.
“It’s a girl,” a nurse cried exuberantly.
Exhausted, the child’s mother collapsed onto the stiff white
sheets of the hospital mattress while the father watched on in dismay.
Despite the joyous occasion, the father’s mood was remarkably
dour. Another one? he thought grimly. Neither of his daughters would be able to
take his place at the head of his Baptist congregation.
There was nothing to it.
They would have to have another child. The plan began forming in
his mind even as he went through the motions of drumming up a pleased
expression. Father had his attention wrapped so tightly around how to get a
male heir to carry on his lineage that he almost didn’t notice the flurry of
activity teeming around his wife.
Something was terribly wrong. His eyes darted to where a nurse
placed his daughter in a clear-sided case as activity swarmed around him.
Another nurse hooked her arm around his elbow to lead him out of the delivery
room and into the hallway. Dimly, he acknowledged her words – bleeding,
emergency, infection, surgery.
In the waiting area, his escort gently deposited him in a hard
plastic chair and then scurried off, promising to return with news. Closing in
on two in the morning, he realized the room was nearly empty. His other
daughter was at home with one of the parishioners from his church, unbeknownst
to the struggle her mother faced. Slumping forward, Father rested his elbows on
his knees, dropped his head into his outstretched palms, and waited, silently
praying for the life of his wife.
Later – he wasn’t sure how much time had passed – the grim-face
doctor strode into the waiting room and called his name.
“My wife?” he choked to the man clad in dark blue surgical scrubs.
“She’s resting comfortably in the recovery room.”
“What happened?” Father wasn’t one to tremble, but at this moment,
his voice shook. He couldn’t lose her. No other woman was worthy to fulfill the
role of his wife.
The doctor began a lengthy medical discussion of what had
occurred. Most of the terminology passed outside his understanding of medicine,
but he was too proud to ask the doctor to explain.
He understood one word.
“Unfortunately, we had to perform a hysterectomy,” the doctor said
gently. “She will never be able to have children again.”
A silent fury crept through him at the injustice of the situation.
But he could not reveal the full depth of his emotion. He was a respected
member of the community; as the pastor, the community called upon him for
weddings, funerals, counseling … No, he could not scream at the doctor for
butchering his wife’s body. He could not wail because he would never have the
son that he’d dreamed of his entire adult life.
“Come back and see your wife. We’ll bring your daughter in. She’s
doing beautifully. Do you have a name picked out?” the doctor said, reading the
pastor’s silence as shock.
The pastor cleared his throat. His lips pressed into a taut line.
“My wife selects the names for the girls.” He kept his voice to a murmur;
afraid any inflection would betray his disbelief and disdain for another girl.
Was it so much for a man of faith to want a son to carry on his family name and
heritage? He was a pastor, his father was a pastor, his father’s father was a
pastor, and so forth. The only way to control who would take over his
congregation would be by selecting a husband for one of his daughters. He
wasn’t opposed to the notion, but he would prefer to have a son to mold into
the ideal successor.
Fighting a sigh, the pastor dutifully entered the hospital room
where his fatigued wife lay with a bundle of pink blanket on her breast. He
moved to her side, making the appropriate cooing noises, and stroked his hand
over the child’s wispy blond strands of hair. It wasn’t as if he had no
feelings at all for the baby girl. She evoked a sense of pride and a corner of
softness in his heart, but she wasn’t what he truly wanted.
“What would you like to call her?” His voice sounded rough like
sandpaper when he spoke. Thankfully, none of the nurses in the room or his wife
took notice, likely assuming his wife’s near-death experience had left him
tired and shaken.
“Iris,” his wife said resolutely. “My baby girls are my flowers. I
already have a Violet and now an Iris.” She gazed at the child with such love
and affection, the pastor momentarily wondered if he was looking at this
scenario backward. His wife survived the traumatic birth and held their healthy
daughter in their arms. What more could he ask for?
A son.
Author Info
Olivia Luck calls Chicago home. She
loves traveling with her husband, baking for her parents, and taking walks with
her dog. Olivia started writing when she was eight and paused to dabble in
various other pursuits like dance and piano. In the end, she always came back
to her pen and notebook.
Get in touch with Olivia, she adores emails:
olivialuckauthor@gmail.com
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