Dawn Atkins - A Perfect Life?

Dear Reader,

Here’s me at a recent Perfectionists Anonymous meeting: Hi, I’m Dawn, and I’m a perfectionist….No, wait, that’s not quite it. I’m overly goal oriented…? No. Status quo challenged…? Nope. Capable of ironing my lingerie? Close…

You get the idea. Been there, done that yourself? I hope so. Like Claire, I’ve made a few wrong turns in my life (and that’s just finding the exit to my doctor’s office) and I’ve learned to shrug and move on—or out, as the case may be. (Did you know a gynecologist’s office can have seventeen different doors…some of which should definitely lock?)

Now, where was I? Oh, yes, perfection. I say, fugedaboutit. I just do the best I can to tell the stories of the characters who come to me in the night (many of them lost).

You know what helps a lot? Friends. My friends tell the best stories about me. Don’t even think about asking them to share. I give reeeally expensive presents, so they’d never squeal.

Enjoy Claire’s story and watch for my next book at www.dawnatkins.com!

Love and laughs forever,

Dawn Atkins

P.S. Please write to me— daphnedawn@cox.net!

Kyle was asking her out? Claire had definitely not seen this coming. He stood there looking uncertain what to say next.

He was kind of sweet. And, really, it was a good idea to get dating again. Maybe Kyle didn’t give her a zing, but then she’d just broken up with the ex, so her zinger was still numb, right? And the over-the-top Trip zing? Champagne-induced, of course.

“Sure. We could do something,” she said, rushing to ease his nervousness. “Anything you want. Whatever you enjoy.”

“Oh. Well, I, uh, do have season tickets to the symphony.”

“The symphony would be lovely.” The symphony? Hello? The symphony was for blue hairs who toddled over after the early-bird prime rib special at Beefeaters. It was mature, though. And adult. And didn’t she want a mature, adult life? This was exactly what she needed. The encounter with Trip had helped her move on. And now she could start a sensible relationship with Kyle. This could be perfect.

Too bad about the zing, though.

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Dawn Atkins wanted to be a writer the minute she put fat pencil to thick-lined school paper. After years of being known for her “offbeat humor” (read “she’s Looney Tunes”), becoming a published romantic comedy author made Dawn Atkins feel as if she’d come home…to the funny farm. (And she means that in a good way). After all, her likely response to her husband’s and son’s heartfelt “I love you,” is “I love…cake!” What’s love without laughter, she asks? And what if the Hokey-Pokey really is what it’s all about? Dawn has been a teacher, freelance feature writer and a public relations person. She lives in Arizona with her husband and son.

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

871—THE COWBOY FLING

895—LIPSTICK ON HIS COLLAR

945—ROOM…BUT NOT BORED!

HARLEQUIN DUETS

77—ANCHOR THAT MAN!

91—WEDDING FOR ONE/

TATTOO FOR TWO

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

93—FRIENDLY PERSUASION

To my editor, Wanda Ottewell,

who believed in this story—and me—from the start.

I love Phoenix—especially downtown—but readers who know the area will realize that most of the locations in this book are imaginary, though they may be inspired by a real bar or building. I hope I’ve given you an authentic feel for the place. Ziggie’s, by the way, is real, and an absolutely terrific music store.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

“SO, CLAIRE QUINN, it says on this card you’re in love. That right?”

“Huh?” Claire pressed the phone to her ear and squinted at her bedside clock, wondering who the hell was calling about her love life at 7:15 a.m. This early, she hardly knew her own name.

“Frank and Phil here, Radio K-BUZ, double-eleven on your dial,” the lush voice answered. “How are you this fine morning? On the one-week countdown to Valentine’s Day.”

“Asleep,” she mumbled. “And you?”

“Oh, we’re just fine. But not as fine as you’re going to be.”

“Why is that? And how did you get my name?” She never listened to K-BUZ, which was easy-listening elevator music for fortysomethings. She jerked to a sit. “Wait. Am I on the air?”

“You bet your sweet, um, heart you’re on the air. You’re on our Morning Madness Show, where you’ve been selected as today’s ‘Someone Loves Me’ winner.”

“I’ve been selected? I’m a winner?” She vaguely recalled her friend Kitty laughingly dropping Claire’s business card into a fishbowl plastered with radio call letters at Vito’s Bistro after lunch two weeks ago, when she’d first told her friend that she and Jared were in love.

Claire was not the radio contest type, but then she’d never been in love before, either, so Kitty’s gesture had seemed the perfect ending to their lunch, during which Claire had talked nonstop—from the focaccia bread through the blackened mahi-mahi salads to the decaf mocha lattes and fat-free flan—about how Jared was the perfect man for her about-to-be-perfect life. Maybe not perfect, but you had to set your sights high, right?

“So you’re in love?” Frank or Phil asked again.

“Uh, yes, I am,” she said. “You bet.” She was pretty sure. Who really knew about love? Everyone told a different story and none of it matched the movies.

Still, doubts and all, she’d just pronounced herself a woman in love to thousands of radio listeners. She wondered who had heard her happy news. Not Jared, who was back in Reno until Saturday, when he’d move into their perfect apartment in CityScapes, the brand-new building on Central Avenue, in which Claire had lived for five fabulous days.

At first it would only be part-time for Jared—he was only in Phoenix three days a week—but he’d look for a sales job here, she was sure, or transfer to the Phoenix office ASAP.

“Tell us what you love about this guy,” the disc jockey asked.

“What I love? Um, lots of things.” How romantic he was, how he focused on her—really focused—and made her feel vital to his well-being. That was powerful. “It’s personal.”

“Okay, if you’re not gonna give us the juicy stuff…” Frank/Phil gave a theatrical sigh. “I guess we’ll just have to tell you about your prize.”

Hadn’t she already won the best prize of all? True love? On the other hand, overkill in the prize department was okay by her. “What is it?”

“Claire Quinn, you have won a Valentine’s Day gift from the man you love, courtesy of K-BUZ Radio.”

“Really?”

“Truly. Tell us his name, this master of love.”