Tessa Baptiste is used to rejection—it’s the life of a struggling actress. But when she agrees to join Love, Unmasked, the hit dating show where connections are built sight unseen, she’s shocked to find herself falling for someone. Behind the wall is Saul Mensah, a charismatic voice that makes her feel seen, heard, and adored in ways she never imagined.
Saul, a former rugby star turned rising culinary icon, isn’t on the show to find a soulmate. His new restaurant needs publicity, and his Ghanaian grandmother insists he needs a wife. He never expected Tessa—a witty, vulnerable woman who breaks down his carefully constructed walls. Against all odds, he finds himself believing in something he thought was a love.
Their connection feels destined—until reveal day, when Saul vanishes, leaving Tessa humiliated and heartbroken with nothing but a cryptic You’re better off without me.
Back home in New Orleans, Tessa tries to move on, but dreams and visions of Saul haunt her. Her family’s ties to the city’s magical history warn her that their connection may be more than it seems. Meanwhile, Saul struggles to protect Tessa from the dangerous secret that forced him to leave.
When he reappears in her life, desperate for a second chance and with a confession that rocks her world, Tessa must decide if she can start a new life with the man who broke her heart.
Can love survive betrayal, danger, and the mysterious pull of fate?
Saving Saul is steamy second chance novel that mentions domestic violence which some readers may find triggering. A full list of the warnings will be found in the book. Saving Saul was formally a short story titled Hot Hex on a Platter in the anthology Once Upon a Halloween Night. It has been revised with new themes, a revamped plot, and a word count that has more than tripled in size (from 15K to 55K). Enjoy!
Excerpt
Copyright © 2025 Louise Lennox
“Ten seconds to the reveal!” the
director’s sharp, businesslike voice calls out, pulling me from my thoughts. I
take my place before the double doors, nerves zipping through my body like
static electricity. My palms are damp, and my heart beats in triple time as I
smooth down the dress, pretending to calm myself.
"In five, four..." Oh, God.
It’s happening. My life is about to split into before and after.
"Three, two..." My grandmother
always said, “When God closes a door, He opens a window.” Saul is my window,
and I hope he never shutters.
"One, reveal!"
The doors swing open, and I’m greeted by
blinding light, the kind that floods a stage when the final act crescendos. My
eyes take a moment to adjust, the scene before me swimming into focus. But
there’s no applause, no sigh of awe from Saul as he sees me for the first time.
Only silence. Deafening, gut-punching silence.
The cameras hover, eager vultures waiting
for the fairy tale to unfold. But where Saul should stand, there’s only space.
The champagne glasses on the loveseat remain untouched, the fizz bubbling
mockingly in their flutes.
“Saul?” I whisper, the name escaping on a
thread of hope that unravels into nothing. My voice echoes in the cavernous
studio, unanswered. My smile freezes, tight and fragile, as whispers ripple
through the crew.
"Keep Rolling!" The director’s
voice slices through the thick tension, and the room bursts into
motion—producers barking orders, assistants scrambling to adjust the live feed,
and crew members avoiding my gaze. My stomach churns, and the warmth I’d clung
to moments ago evaporates, leaving only the cold sting of humiliation.
Where is he?
My thoughts are a kaleidoscope of panic
and confusion as I scan the room, searching for an answer. My legs feel
unsteady, and my breath is shallow. I can feel the cameras, their lenses
trained on me, capturing every tremble of my lips, every flicker of emotion
across my face.
“Stay composed, Tessa,” I murmur to
myself, but it’s like trying to plug a leaking dam with my bare hands.
The producer, Gavin Turner, strides
toward me with a look that makes my blood run cold. His usually confident
demeanor falters, and his mouth speaks a grim line as he reaches me.
“Tessa,” he says softly, his voice low,
meant only for me. “We need to talk. Offstage.”
“Is it about Saul?” I ask, the words
barely a whisper. The answer is already written on his face, but I need to hear
it. I need to understand.
He nods, his gaze heavy with something I
don’t want to name. “Come with me.”
I follow him, my feet moving on autopilot
as he leads me away from the cameras and the prying eyes. The corridor feels
colder and darker, as though I’m walking into the belly of something terrible.
“Tessa, there’s been... an incident,”
Gavin begins, the words struggling to find purchase. “Saul’s gone, and all he
left was this note. It’s addressed to you.”
The word hits me like a slap, sharp and
stinging, leaving me breathless. “Gone?” I echo, the sound foreign and
disjointed. “That’s impossible. There must be some mistake.”
Gavin’s expression is pained, his tablet
dangling uselessly at his side. “I wish it were, Tessa. But he’s been gone
since yesterday. He’s not coming .”
And they’re just telling me now? Oh,
right, the show must go on; this is prime-time drama for them—a jilted
fiancee-perfect.
But this is what I wanted. To be the most
talked about cast member of this show. Now, I’d give anything to crawl away in
obscurity,
Shit.
The world tilts, and I grasp the wall for
support, the cool surface grounding me in this incomprehensible reality. My
love story—the one I’d built in my heart and soul—crumbles before my eyes, the
pieces too sharp to touch.
“Tessa, I’m so sorry,” Gavin says, his
hand hovering near my shoulder, unsure if comfort is possible.
Tears prick my eyes, hot and unbidden,
but I don’t let them fall. Not yet. Not here. The cameras may be hidden, but
their ghost lingers. I won’t shatter—not where they can see.
I straighten, drawing on every ounce of
strength New Orleans gave me. “Turn off the camera,” I whisper, my voice steady
despite the quake in my chest. “Now!”
Gavin nods, signaling someone beyond my
limited field of vision, but it takes an eternity for the red recording lights
to blink out. In that span, the bustling set transforms into a frenzy.
Producers scurry with headsets clutched to their ears, voices raised over the
sudden cacophony. Someone is calling for a commercial break, another is barking
orders about cutting the live feed, and all the while, I'm standing here,
adrift in disbelief.
"Are you sure?" My question is
a whisper lost in the chaos, directed at no one and everyone at once. This
can't be happening—not to Saul, not to us. But Gavin's solemn nod cuts through
the noise, a silent confirmation that shatters any lingering hope.
Saul is gone, and I must face the shame
of being left alone…alone.
The cameras might have stopped rolling,
but their lenses remain pointed at me, hungry for the moment my composure
crumbles completely. I won't give them that satisfaction—not here, not with the
world watching. With trembling hands, I smooth down the vibrant fabric of my
dress, a futile attempt to steady myself.
Then, I run away to the comfort of a
nearby dressing room.
When I’m finally alone, it hits me—all of
it—the betrayal, the shame, the love that feels like it’s dying in my chest. I
press my back against the door, the cool wood grounding me as the first tear
spills over, carving a hot, salty path down my cheek.
"Damn it, Saul," I whisper, the
sound swallowed by the quiet of the room. My reflection stares back from the
vanity mirror, and I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me. My mother’s
pearls around my neck catch the light, their iridescence mocking me with their
perfect, unbroken form.
My fingers work to unclasp the strand,
the incredible weight pooling in my palm. They’re hot to the touch, reminding
me of who I am— a woman rooted in strength and legacy who doesn’t crumble, no
matter how heavy the storm.
I close my eyes, drawing a deep breath,
the scent of foundation and hairspray grounding me. "New Orleans didn’t
raise a quitter," I murmur, the mantra steadying my trembling heart.
Something must be wrong. What’s in this
stupid note? He loves me, and he wouldn’t do this!
Would he?
I opened the note with shaky resolve. In
perfect block lettering, he wrote, Patrick is free. You’re better off without
me.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? I
know what he said in the hub about what he would do if they set Patrick free,
but Saul Mensah is no killer. That’s a bit far-fetched.
So, what exactly has he gone off to do
without me and the promises he made? Is he calling the police? Is he relocating
his grandmother and sister? Is he appealing the decision?
I take a deep breath and collect myself.
This is crazy.
I should forget him and this ordeal and
head back to New Orleans.
This show will eventually air next year,
and I know the cameras, the questions, the humiliation—they’ll come. But if I’m
home, so will the bayou, the embrace of my city, and the unshakable truth of
who I am.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling of being
pulled toward Saul Mensah again. Maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s madness. But one
thing is certain: I won’t leave LA until I find him and get some answers.
No one plays in Tessa Baptiste’s face and
gets away with it. No one.
About Louise Lennox: Contemporary Romance Author with Heart and Heat
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