With Fat Chance coming out on the first of February, I thought you might like a little sneak peek between the virtual covers of the book. So here's a little tidbit from Cassaundra's first therapy appointment! Enjoy, and don't forget to keep watching for more!
"Let's start with something easy. Tell me about your hobbies." He leans back and settles into the chair, waiting to see what I will say.
"I don't really have any," I say, wrinkling my forehead in an attempt to magically call some enthusiasm to my mind. I don't craft, or do a lot of fitness stuff -- obviously -- or anything like that. I don't build, I don't write or sing or anything.
"I go to work, and then I go home. I talk on the phone with my sisters."
"You have sisters," he smiles. "That's a good start."
"Well, they aren't my sisters, really, they're foster sisters. I sort of grew up with them."
"They feel like family to you?" he asks. I nod, and he breaks into an easy grin, which makes dimples appear in his cheeks. To my sheer embarrassment this causes something inside of me to click over, like an engine suddenly starting that hasn't been run for a while. Goosebumps race over me, and I pray he can't see my reactions to him, that he can't see how attracted I am.
"They count then," he says, and I relax. If he notices my attraction, he has chosen to ignore it. I follow his lead.
"They've been good to me," I tell him. "Their mother, too. They, um, they don't know I'm here. I can't tell them I'm crazy." My eyes are in my lap, my fingers helplessly twisting and smoothing the fabric of my dress, the only physical sign of my inner distress. I hadn't realized I was doing it.
"Crazy? Oh, you're crazy," he says, as if only noticing for the first time that I must be. "I didn't realize you were crazy, I just thought maybe you were having a hard time and needing some coaching. Crazy, though, is very serious."
"Thank you," I say to him. My voice is cool but my face is growing more heated by the second. "Did they teach you how to mock your patients in medical school? Or is that just a little freebie you throw in?"
"I didn't mean to mock," he chuckles, raising my temper another notch. Briefly, I wonder how much trouble I'll get in if I throw something at him. There's a nice, weighty candle in a glass jar, sitting lonesome on the end table beside me. I wonder if I could throw it far enough; it looks heavy. On the table at the other end of the couch, there is a vase of flowers; this is heavier than the candle. Candle it is, then.