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As always, thank you to Kellie for formatting my book at the last minute and in a rush. You are a star, Kel!
To my readers and all my members of my groups who have stuck by me and supported me through a rough year, always telling me to take time for me and my family and being patient waiting for a new book, I will be eternally grateful for your encouragement and continuing to read my words. Your love of my books gives me purpose and a will to pursue my passion. Thank you for sharing my world.
To my friends and family, thank you for all your love and wanting to be involved in my author world. You make me believe in myself on the days that there is doubt—and let me assure you, that is nearly every day.
Lastly to my husband Michael, children Josh, Caitlin, and Aimee, you put up with my crazy and encourage me to pursue my passion. I couldn’t do this if it wasn’t for the unlimited love you show me every single day. You are my world and reason I do what I do. Grateful for you.
Happy reading and see you between the pages.
Karen xx
That Day Excerpt
ASHA
“This damn dog is going to be the death of me!” I scream into the wind that’s blowing in my face, whipping the stray parts of my blonde hair across my eyes and into my mouth while I’m yelling.
If I run any faster, I know my heart is going to stop, put her hands on her hips and throw a tantrum, because of course that’s what hearts do in the real world. Me and exercise are not best friends. Actually, to be honest, we have never been friends. If this body were designed to run, then I wouldn’t have these short legs that make me have to take two steps compared to the average woman’s one.
Seriously, I see all those posts on social media of the hot-looking chicks with long legs, the perfect tits, not even breaking a sweat as they pound the treadmill in the gym. The perfect bubble butt in the short little gym shorts, no panty lines, so they are probably wearing a G-string just because they can and still feel comfortable running.
Sometimes I wish I could do the honest post of how the uncoordinated women in the world exercise. I picture myself on a treadmill, my little legs trying to keep up with the speed, before the machine spits me off the end with my arms flapping around like a windmill. Then in the weights room, the red cheeks and sweat pouring off me, just from trying to lift the smallest weight they have.
I just wasn’t built to be a fit pocket rocket. Instead, I’m the little quiet wallflower who just wants to blend into the wall behind me. It wasn’t always that way, but life has a way of changing things.
“Coco! Stop!” I swear this dog is deaf whenever I’m calling her. But she has the best fucking hearing when it’s time to feed her. The moment I open the cupboard where her food is kept, she is circling my legs and I can’t even move. I swear there wasn’t much thought process that went into this when I picked a dog. I mean, who gets a dog that’s almost as big as the person who owns her?
“That’s it, you stupid mutt! You’re on your own. I don’t care if you get lost. Go find some other human to put up with your shit!” I hunch forward, hands on my knees and gasping, trying to get air into my lungs. I watch Coco running along the beach chasing the same seagull that she spotted the moment we stepped onto the sand this morning.
Our morning walks on the beach would be so much better if there were no birds. I mean, can’t the gulls wait for me to take my walk and then come out for their morning fly-by on the way to find their breakfast for the day?
I don’t sleep much, so as the sun starts to rise, I find that the most peaceful time of the day to walk. Clear out my night thoughts and try to let the new day flow into my body. It gets my creativity started. Routine has become my savior from my haunting memories.
Coco’s barking snaps me out of my thoughts. Looking up, I see her stopped and focusing out into the waves. The early-morning surfers are out getting their fix from the saltwater before they head off for their day jobs. I see the same ones every day, and the ones that are addicted are usually back in the afternoon. Obviously, they can’t get enough. I understand that type of addiction.
I often wonder who they are and where they come from. Are they teachers, bankers, scientists? Or the guy who stocks the shelves at the supermarket?
That’s my problem. My head has a story for everyone I see in the world. I blame my dad. He had the wildest imagination, and I obviously inherited it. Every night when he put me to bed, instead of reading me a story, he would make one up. Sometimes it matched the pictures of the book I picked, but most of the time we didn’t even bother with a book. Mom would complain every night when I would be giggling loudly or shouting out to the imaginary dragon that I was riding to fly higher in the clouds. I can still hear her words in my head.
“Rhett, you are supposed to be putting her to sleep, that’s why they are called bedtime stories!” Her voice would waft down the hallway from the kitchen where she would be cleaning up from dinner. She tried to sound angry, but all there was in her voice was love. For me and even more for my dad. They were perfect for each other.
I slowly creep up on Coco and attach the lead that I tried to put on her before we left the backyard this morning. Some days we don’t need it, but obviously today is not one of them. Luckily, she is still looking out to the sea. Her focus seems to be on the lone surfer that is to the right of the group, sitting on his board, just watching and waiting for that perfect wave. The surf is a little rough this morning. There are reports of a hurricane coming, but they don’t expect it to make landfall. The ocean is always a good weather reporter for me. It fascinates me on so many levels.
“Coco, shush, you’re making a spectacle of yourself. No guy likes a girl who is loud and never shuts up.” She finally stops barking and looks up at me like she understands what I just said.
“Oh, now you want to listen?” I pat her head as she starts wagging her tail at me.
“One day we’ll work out this me-the-master, you-the-dog, relationship. In the meantime, can you just stop making me run? Otherwise, you’ll be on your own, because I’ll be the dead lady, face first in the sand after my heart attack.” She looks up at me and gives me one bark and then starts calmly walking towards home like I’m the one making a fuss.
“You think I’m the diva? Well, I’ve got news for you. If there was a prize for the sassiest dog in North Carolina, you would take the gold medal.” I laugh to myself because this is my day beginning like normal. Me talking to a dog and actually thinking I’m having a conversation with her.
Yep, I’m officially a nutcase!
Looking out to sea again, I catch sight of the guy in the surf that Coco seems to have a thing for. He hasn’t moved. He’s just bobbing up and down on the waves and staring straight at me.
Fuck.
I don’t want to draw attention to myself, but I can’t look away. I know who he is. Well, I don’tknowknow who he is, but I know who he is on sight. It may or may not have something to do with me spying on him every morning and afternoon from my porch as he strips beside his truck, getting in and out of his wetsuit.
