to notice people and profile them.
Besides the groupies now settled into the first row tittering at him, a fifty-something woman in a diaphanous floral outfit and beads that dangled at her neck, ears and wrists floated into a seat in the second row. He imagined her in Zen meditation, waiting for writing inspiration to channel itself into her brain.
The seats around and behind her quickly filled up with an assortment of attendees. The workshop had been a hot ticket, especially since he was donating the funds raised to a local environmental group that would secure and preserve a large swath of the mountainside. He had purchased the area next to the preserve, which was where he now had his home. The two areas combined would safeguard most of Cat’s Claw Mountain for future generations.
Almost all of the spaces were filled when she walked in.
She had an athlete’s body, all long, lean lines except for the delicious curves displayed by her faded jeans and the thermal fabric Henley shirt. Despite the tomboy, girl-next-door ensemble, there was something off about her, like she was trying too hard to look like an average hometown girl.
Maybe because she carried herself with an aplomb that screamed city girl.
Plus her shoulder-length dark hair was artfully done with streaks of honey that hinted at the work of a high-end salon. Minimal makeup highlighted a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones a model would covet. Full lips broadened into a dazzling smile at something the man beside her said while they took seats at the back of the auditorium. But as she sat, her gaze skipped to the front of the room and collided with his.
Her eyes were a blue as clear and clean as the stream that ran not far from his mountain lodge home.
“Mr. Hawke,” came from beside him. The moderator for the workshop stood there, wringing his hands. “Is it all right to begin?”
Galen nodded and took a spot in a chair by the podium, waiting for the obligatory reading of his bio and the applause that followed.
Listening to his so-called accomplishments made him uneasy basically because he didn’t consider what he’d done to be anything out of the ordinary. He’d just been lucky to turn something he loved into a career of sorts. But he did his best to offer his advice on writing and answer the questions that came at him from various spots around the auditorium. He held back from calling on the quivering and eager hands waving from the front row because he feared their questions would have nothing to do with his books or his craft. Unfortunately, the moderator stepped in to make sure he was aware of the enthusiastic attendees seeking his attention.
Galen motioned to one of the women and she popped up out of her chair with the speed of a jack-in-the-box. “We’d like to know,” she began, and shot a conspiratorial wink at her friends. “Is there someone special in your life?”
He had been expecting the question and so he was prepared. “I have lots of special people in my life. My parents and siblings. My agent and publisher—”
“No, I mean a special lady,” she clarified.
Something made him look to the back row, searching for the woman he had seen earlier. She was still there and this time her gaze met his as he said, “Not yet, but maybe I’ll get lucky someday.”
Before his admirer could press again, the moderator stepped in, raising his hands to quiet the crowd.
“Let’s end on that upbeat note, ladies and gentlemen. Please thank Mr. Hawke for his time and his generous donation to the Cat’s Claw Mountain Preservation Society.”
Galen stepped back out of the spotlight and immediately experienced relief, until the moderator laid a hand on his arm. “We do have a special request, Galen. If you don’t mind, there’s a reporter here for a short interview.”
“I hadn’t really planned on any interviews with the press.”
“But the story might help bring awareness to our attempt to preserve the mountain,” the man
Besides the groupies now settled into the first row tittering at him, a fifty-something woman in a diaphanous floral outfit and beads that dangled at her neck, ears and wrists floated into a seat in the second row. He imagined her in Zen meditation, waiting for writing inspiration to channel itself into her brain.
The seats around and behind her quickly filled up with an assortment of attendees. The workshop had been a hot ticket, especially since he was donating the funds raised to a local environmental group that would secure and preserve a large swath of the mountainside. He had purchased the area next to the preserve, which was where he now had his home. The two areas combined would safeguard most of Cat’s Claw Mountain for future generations.
Almost all of the spaces were filled when she walked in.
She had an athlete’s body, all long, lean lines except for the delicious curves displayed by her faded jeans and the thermal fabric Henley shirt. Despite the tomboy, girl-next-door ensemble, there was something off about her, like she was trying too hard to look like an average hometown girl.
Maybe because she carried herself with an aplomb that screamed city girl.
Plus her shoulder-length dark hair was artfully done with streaks of honey that hinted at the work of a high-end salon. Minimal makeup highlighted a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones a model would covet. Full lips broadened into a dazzling smile at something the man beside her said while they took seats at the back of the auditorium. But as she sat, her gaze skipped to the front of the room and collided with his.
Her eyes were a blue as clear and clean as the stream that ran not far from his mountain lodge home.
“Mr. Hawke,” came from beside him. The moderator for the workshop stood there, wringing his hands. “Is it all right to begin?”
Galen nodded and took a spot in a chair by the podium, waiting for the obligatory reading of his bio and the applause that followed.
Listening to his so-called accomplishments made him uneasy basically because he didn’t consider what he’d done to be anything out of the ordinary. He’d just been lucky to turn something he loved into a career of sorts. But he did his best to offer his advice on writing and answer the questions that came at him from various spots around the auditorium. He held back from calling on the quivering and eager hands waving from the front row because he feared their questions would have nothing to do with his books or his craft. Unfortunately, the moderator stepped in to make sure he was aware of the enthusiastic attendees seeking his attention.
Galen motioned to one of the women and she popped up out of her chair with the speed of a jack-in-the-box. “We’d like to know,” she began, and shot a conspiratorial wink at her friends. “Is there someone special in your life?”
He had been expecting the question and so he was prepared. “I have lots of special people in my life. My parents and siblings. My agent and publisher—”
“No, I mean a special lady,” she clarified.
Something made him look to the back row, searching for the woman he had seen earlier. She was still there and this time her gaze met his as he said, “Not yet, but maybe I’ll get lucky someday.”
Before his admirer could press again, the moderator stepped in, raising his hands to quiet the crowd.
“Let’s end on that upbeat note, ladies and gentlemen. Please thank Mr. Hawke for his time and his generous donation to the Cat’s Claw Mountain Preservation Society.”
Galen stepped back out of the spotlight and immediately experienced relief, until the moderator laid a hand on his arm. “We do have a special request, Galen. If you don’t mind, there’s a reporter here for a short interview.”
“I hadn’t really planned on any interviews with the press.”
“But the story might help bring awareness to our attempt to preserve the mountain,” the man
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