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ETA 1st Feb.
ETA 1st Feb.
I got to thinking the other day when my sister said in an offhand comment ‘everyone hates change’.
I don’t.
Quite the opposite in fact. I love change.
My favourite season is when they change:
winter to spring is inspirational, spring to summer joyful, summer to
autumn brings appreciation for the beauty of the changing world and on
to winter, when the bright, brisk days exhilarate me.
My favourite weather is when it changes,
sun being eclipsed by billowing, purple clouds, the first fat raindrop
falling. Vice versa, sunshine through the rain and rainbows arcing
through the sky.
Dawn when the moon gives way to the sun,
dusk when the sun starts to leave. All wonderful times to be alive with
the very air seeming to dissolve in the changing light.
Then there’s the life changing thing.
Not quite so easy, or so enjoyable, but heck, when you’ve survived it,
nothing beats that feeling. Change scoops you up to tumble in its force,
cursing it, helpless but emerging the other side brand spanking new,
with a different, more mature outlook on life, and one step closer to
peace.
So I scooped up Pippa, my heroine in
Romancing the Seas, and put her through the change wringer.
She leaves a
settled life in London behind for a new life in New Zealand. How
exciting for her, and the first three chapters were hard for her. But
hey she settled and now loves it there, in her brand spanking new life.
Here she is at the start, wondering whether she’s done the right thing:
There were several top-of-the-range treadmills and she chose one, slowly working her stride.
But her mind refused to let up. Why had
she come out here to New Zealand? She should have stayed in London,
working for Marcus. Okay, maybe she would have moved to a different
restaurant, but even then she would have been surrounded by the
familiar, not the unknown — and the downright scary. Now she was a
prisoner of her own design: new country — heck, new continent — new job, new boss, no friends, and not even any space to call her own.
Maybe she had done the right thing. How
could she have stayed in London after what Marcus had done? An up and
coming celebrity chef, she had supported him all the way. Until his
publicist had said to him, “Lose the sous chef; she’s too ordinary a
look for you. You need an it girl on your arm, so all the paparazzi will be snapping you for the celebrity magazines.”
“Look, Pippa,” Marcus had pleaded. “Just
give me a couple of years to get to the top of my career and then we
can be together properly. We can still be together, but just keep our
relationship under cover.”
Pippa had wanted to cry, but instead picked up her bag and walked out of the flat she had never quite moved into.
She had been right to leave.
But whether she had been right to leave so drastically, swapping
everything she had ever known for the unknown, was very questionable.
Her heart pounded rapidly and she
pressed the treadmill button to lower the speed, concentrating on
breathing deeply to slow her heart rate down. A light cough from the
treadmill beside her nearly threw her off her treadmill in surprise.
Her new roomie.
In an attempt not to let the machine
sweep her off, she pumped her legs and finally caught back up with the
pace. Great. Glances at the monitor, proudly proclaiming a heart rate of
190, made her want to curl up and die. Mr. Eagleton, on the other hand,
appeared very relaxed and loose limbed beside her as he lengthened into
his pace, despite a faint sheen of sweat — clearly he had been in the
gym for a while.
Breathe.
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