22 Sep Hanna Park The Midnight Carousel #TheJerseyNightingale #EllenRead #YardeBookPromotions #BlogTour #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalRomance #WWIIFiction #WartimeFiction #HistoricalFictionBooks #BookTour #BookBloggers #BookReviews #BookRecommendations #NewBook #BookLovers @maryanneyarde

FEATURED AUTHOR: HANNAH PARK

It’s my pleasure to welcome Hanna Park  as the featured author in the Yarde Book Promotions Blog Tour being held between September 21st –25th, 2026. Hanna Park is the author of the Historical Romance, The Midnight Carousel (A Forest Falls Frolic), published by Baisong Press on 22^nd September 2026 (197 pages). 

Below are highlights of The Midnight Carousel, Hanna Park’s author bio, and an excerpt from the novel.

Tour Schedule Page: https://maryanneyarde.blogspot.com/2026/08/blog-tour-midnight-carousel-forest.html

HIGHLIGHTS: THE MIDNIGHT CAROUSEL

 

The Midnight Carousel
(A Forest Falls Frolic)
By Hanna Park

Blurb:

Belle Stanhope had plans. Good plans. Practical plans.

None of them involved Hudson Carver.

The florist with the crooked smile had become a distraction she neither wanted nor could avoid. Which was inconvenient, considering the Pretty River Inn and the upcoming bachelor auction left little room for distractions.

For years, Hudson had been content with the life he’d built beneath Christmas Mountain. His flower shop, his workshop, and the friends who had become family were more than he’d ever expected. Then he met Belle Stanhope.

As Christmas approaches, the carousel’s calliope sings off-key, and the old magic he’d left behind stirs once more. The life he’d built and the life he wants are no longer the same.

In Forest Falls, wishes have a way of finding the people who need them most.

Buy Link: Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/bOBpkA

AUTHOR BIO: HANNAH PARK

 

I began my writing career in the pre-dawn of a winter morning while my husband snored like a train. We could call my husband the catalyst. If it weren’t for him, I would never have gone to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, feed the cat, and sit on the loveseat in front of the fire. It was there, in those moments of wondrous quiet, that I did something I had never thought possible. I opened my laptop, and while the coffee went cold, I wrote a story. My husband had no idea that these sojourns to the loveseat in front of the fire would become a daily occurrence, that writing would become an obsession, but the cat knew. She knows everything.

I write stories that make you laugh, make you cry, and make you love. Thank you, friends, for reading!

In the beginning, there was an empty page.

I am a writer who lives in Muskoka, Canada, with a husband who snores, a hungry cat, and an almost perfect canine––he’s an adorable little shit.

Social Media Links:

Website     Instagram     Facebook     Bluesky

BookBub     Amazon Author Page     Goodreads

EXCERPT: THE MIDNIGHT CAROUSEL

Hudson

The Majestic had always felt untouched by time.

Framed black-and-white movie posters lined the walls beside velvet curtains trimmed in faded gold tassels, warm amber sconces casting pools of light across the worn carpets.

I lingered near the back of the theatre lobby while the evening crowd filtered toward the auditorium, carrying paper tubs of popcorn.

The old projector rattled to life inside the upstairs booth as Trent’s teenage usher disappeared toward the balcony carrying extra blankets for the late arrivals.

“You’re thinking too loudly again,” Trent muttered beside me.

I turned toward him. “Is that a real thing?”

“With you? Yes.”

More guests drifted past us, laughing beneath clouds of cold winter air carried in from outside.

I checked my watch. Thirty seconds. It felt longer.

Trent caught me looking. “You waiting for someone?”

“No.”

“Hm.”

The theatre doors opened twice. Neither time was Belle. I told myself I wasn’t waiting for her. The third time, she walked in, stamping the snow from her boots before stepping onto the carpet, snow clinging to her green coat. She paused just inside the entrance, scanning the crowded lobby.

I had just enough time to look away before she found me doing exactly what I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

JoJo spotted her from across the room, waving both arms overhead like she was directing aircraft traffic.

Belle sighed.

Even from the far side of the lobby, I recognized the look. She made that face whenever JoJo decided chaos was a reasonable life strategy.

JoJo noticed me noticing Belle within approximately half a second, a grin spreading across her face as she leaned toward Belle, whispering something that turned her cheeks an even brighter shade of pink.

Trent followed my line of sight. “Oh,” he murmured.

I sighed. “Please don’t.”

“You looked at her like she personally invented Christmas.”

“She practically works for Christmas.”

Trent folded his arms. “Not helping your case.”

Belle shrugged out of her coat near the entrance while JoJo disappeared toward the concession counter. The deep green coat fell open, revealing the cream sweater beneath, and for one unreasonable moment, I forgot what Trent had just said to me.

Aredhel’s pale gaze found me from beside the lobby staircase. She noticed the way my shoulders straightened the moment Belle entered the theatre. The way my eyes followed her.

“Movie starts in five.” Trent clapped one hand against my shoulder before heading toward the auditorium doors.

Guests filed into the theatre, laughter and conversation echoing through the old building. Beyond the velvet curtains, White Christmas flickered to life across the screen.

Belle disappeared into the crowd before reappearing near the hallway leading toward the side exit, her phone glowing against her cheek.

I didn’t mean to listen. At least, that’s what I told myself.

“…I understand the roads are bad, but they’ve been sitting there nearly an hour.” A pause followed while muffled voices drifted from the auditorium. “No, I know the storm worsened,” Belle sighed. “I just don’t want them stranded on Christmas Mountain all night.”

Every pleasant thought vanished.

Christmas Mountain.

I waited longer than necessary before crossing the lobby toward her.

Relief softened her face.

I found myself standing a little straighter.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, lowering the phone slightly. “I didn’t mean to stand out here.”

“You’re fine.”

Snow rattled the windows while distant music from the film drifted through the theatre walls.

Belle twisted loose strands of hair away from her face. “A couple from Toronto ignored literally every winter road warning available to mankind and drove up Christmas Mountain.”

“That happens surprisingly often.”

“I know.” She exhaled a breathless laugh. “They’re trapped beside the old stone bridge, arguing about GPS directions.”

I smiled. “That also happens surprisingly often.”

Her shoulders relaxed, and for a moment neither of us spoke. 

Ridiculous how pleased that made me.

One of the old hallway sconces flickered overhead before settling into a steady glow.

Belle glanced upward. “So that’s not ominous at all.”

“It’s an old building.”

“Mm.” Her eyes narrowed. “That sounded suspiciously rehearsed.”

I almost laughed. Almost.

Even here, tucked inside the old theatre hallway beneath the warmth and noise of the movie crowd, I could still hear the subtle shift in the Carousel’s melody drifting beneath the wind and the warning threading between the notes.

Belle studied me for another moment. “There it is again.”

I frowned slightly. “What?”

“That look.”

The quiet honesty in her voice caught me off guard. I stared at the vintage poster behind her. “You’re imagining things.”

“I don’t think I am.” Belle stepped closer, tucking her phone into her coat pocket. Not enough to touch. Just enough that her vanilla scent filled my nose. My thoughts immediately became less useful. “You know, most people would be at least slightly excited about tomorrow night.”

She was trying to pull me away from whatever she’d seen on my face, and she was good at it, too.

“The auction?”

“You’re objectively the town favorite at this point.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

A laugh slipped from her. Worth it.

Standing there beneath the theatre lights, she had my full attention.

Her phone buzzed between us, the sound shattering the quiet.

She jumped slightly before glancing down at the screen, relief bringing a smile to her face. “Oh, thank God.”

“They found them?”

“The tow truck finally reached the bridge.” She exhaled, one hand pressing briefly against her chest. “Apparently, Gary is no longer allowed to make navigation decisions for the remainder of the marriage.” Belle smiled. Not the polite smile she gave hotel guests or exhausted tourists demanding extra towels during snowstorms. This one was the kind of smile that made leaving a conversation difficult. “They’re safe. Cold and embarrassed, but safe.”

“Forest Falls usually rescues people from themselves eventually.”

Her gaze stayed on me another moment before muffled laughter spilled from the auditorium nearby. The movie had started, the flickering glow from the screen spilling beneath the theatre doors.

The door nearest us opened abruptly.

JoJo leaned around the doorframe, wearing an expression so aggressively innocent it immediately became suspicious.

“There you are.” Her eyes widened. “Aredhel and I were beginning to think you’d eloped.”

Belle blinked. “What?”

JoJo ignored her completely. “We saved seats before the tourists started behaving like raccoons fighting over nesting territory.”

Aredhel drifted into view, soft light from the screen flickering across her pale hair, her silver-blue gaze lifting to mine. Then toward the windows. A subtle crease formed between her brows before the expression vanished.

She’d heard it too—the calliope shifting beneath the storm.

“Come on,” JoJo whispered. “The good scenes are starting.”

Belle’s eyebrows lifted. “I should probably head back to the inn soon.”

“You’ve been saying that for three hours,” JoJo informed her.

“That is false.”

“It feels emotionally true.” Aredhel’s mouth curved at the corners before she stepped aside, letting another group of late arrivals shuffle past toward the auditorium.

“You should stay.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Belle looked up at me.

Heat crept beneath my collar. I cleared my throat. “The movie…” I clarified, aware how dangerously close that had sounded to something else. “With us.”

Before she could answer, JoJo clapped both mittened hands together triumphantly. “Excellent. Wonderful. Love that for us.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m festive.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It absolutely is.” JoJo disappeared into the auditorium before Belle could argue further.

Traitor.

Belle stood there looking at me beneath the glowing sconces, her green coat draped loosely over one arm. Then she smiled.

That was probably a mistake.

“Okay,” she said.

The theatre had darkened by the time we slipped through the auditorium doors, golden aisle lights illuminating rows of velvet seats while the massive screen flickered silver and blue. Locals filled most of the rows near the back beneath blankets and winter coats, while tourists clustered closer to the front, balancing tubs of popcorn against their knees. Somewhere farther down the row, JoJo’s muffled laughter rolled through the dark.

I spotted her. I also spotted two very obvious empty seats.

Belle noticed too.

“That woman is incapable of subtlety,” she smirked.

“No argument there.”

Belle hesitated near the aisle as her eyes adjusted to the dark. Without thinking, I reached for her hand, and her fingers curled against mine. Neither of us let go immediately. Or perhaps neither of us realized we hadn’t. The distinction felt important.

I guided her down the narrow row between knees and winter boots while soft laughter drifted around us. Belle stumbled when someone’s abandoned scarf tangled near her feet, and my hand tightened around hers before she could lose balance.

“You really think I’m incapable of walking tonight,” she whispered.

“You’ve had a difficult relationship with gravity.”

The laugh she tried to suppress stayed with me all the way to our seats.

The armrests in the Majestic had been designed before personal space became a serious consideration. Our coats brushed whenever either of us moved. I noticed ridiculous things: the scent of cedar lingering in the wool of her coat, the soft rustle of her sleeve as she reached for popcorn, and the way she smiled before she laughed. I’d been collecting details about Belle for years.

Her coffee order.

Her preference for handwritten notes.

The way she tucked loose hair behind her ear when she concentrated.

I’d blamed Forest Falls for years.

Somewhere onscreen, people were singing. Possibly dancing. I was already losing track.

Halfway through the first musical number, Belle shifted, her knee touching mine. A small thing. Barely noticeable. The contact lingered, light enough to deny, impossible to ignore. Neither of us moved. I suspected that moving would require considerably more self-control than I currently possessed.

My eyes were fixed firmly on the screen. Self-preservation seemed prudent. The screen, however, had become far less interesting than the woman beside me. A few rows ahead, someone laughed. By then, I had no idea what had happened in the movie.

Belle leaned closer. “Do people actually decorate like this?” she whispered, nodding toward the elaborate Christmas display filling the screen, her shoulder resting against mine.

When she pulled away, I noticed.

When she laughed at something one of the actors said, the sound carried straight through me and for one reckless moment, I found myself wondering what it would be like if this wasn’t a movie night arranged by JoJo’s interference and questionable life choices. If this were simply a date. If Belle had chosen the seat beside me because she wanted to. That line of thinking proved unhelpful. The unsettling part was how little imagination it required.

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