I know I'm always anxious to read the next book in any series, and even more so when I know it's still in production! But I wanted to give everyone a little sneak peek...so without further ado, here's the very first scene....
If she closed her eyes, just let go, and didn’t over-think it, Claire could almost imagine she was lying beside a tropical waterfall, its warm waters splashing nearby. In the distance unknown birds called from the tops of what she imagined were palm trees swaying in the gentle trade winds. She could even smell the hyacinth. Yes, if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine....
“Breathe deep, ladies,” a woman’s voice whispered, “feel prana flow through you, cleansing tension and bringing clarity. In...out...in...out....”
Clarity? Claire thought to herself. Jesus, she could use clarity. In fact, wasn’t that why the hell she was here, she wondered? Hadn’t she been working on deep-sixing the tension and finding friggin’ clarity for the last four months?
“Breathe out negative chi. Release all cares, all thoughts,” the woman continued, in a calm, soothing voice.
Maybe she’d get an iced chai tea afterward, she thought, and then realized she wasn’t supposed to be thinking. “Shut-Up,” she said to herself.
“Claire?” the woman’s voice asked.
“Sorry, talking to myself.”
“Good to know,” she said softly. “Well, ladies, I think we’ve come to the end of today’s class.”
The tropical forest and all its delights suddenly ended. Gone was the waterfall, the birds, the breeze in the palms. Claire opened her eyes and saw Calysta, the yoga teacher, tucking her IPod into a backpack and blowing out the candles; so long, hyacinths.
After a few minutes of stretches to get the circulation back into her now uncrossed legs, Claire rolled up her lime green yoga matt, tucked it into her brightly colored Vera Bradley tote, pulled a lightweight saffron-shaded Patagonia hoodie over her head, flipped free her ponytail, pushing back an errant strand of black hair from her face, and stood, looking at herself in the wall mirror.
Not long ago her thick, dark hair would have hung in an easy, professionally styled wave that grazed the shoulders of a neatly tailored, black DKNY suit. Her fair complexion and dark eyes would have been expertly enhanced with the aide of Mac and Bobbi Brown. An Hermes scarf would have draped elegantly at her neck, a black leather briefcase holding her laptop in one hand, a coach handbag over her shoulder.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked herself.
“What, Claire?” asked another woman, packing up beside her.
“Nothing, sorry, talking to myself again.” Since when do I talk to myself? she thought. She walked out the front door to the yoga studio and stood, looking up at the Bookcliffs of Mt. Garfield’s mesa facade, towering over the Grande River valley, home to Colorado’s wine industry. “Since you moved here,” she whispered to herself.
(photo courtesy worldwidewine.com)