Thank you so much for stopping by. I have a new WIP begun some time ago that I've just started revising this week. Here is the opening scene from a brand-new work-in-progress titled, To Love or Not to Love. The city I chose for my prompt this week is New York City.
One minute he was running on the bridle path in Central Park, the next he was flying through the air! Penn Robinson landed flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him for a second. He looked up into a pair of soulful brown eyes belonging to a handsome Golden Retriever.
Buddy! Was it Buddy, his beloved golden, who died seven years ago?
He reached up to touch the dog he didn’t believe was real when he heard a voice.
“Are you hurt? Should I call 911?”
Penn switched his gaze from the dog, who had now begun to lick his face, to the most beautiful pair of green eyes, framed in black lashes he had ever seen. Her face with a peaches-n-cream complexion was framed with long hair as dark as midnight.
“Lucky didn’t mean to knock you over. See, he’s sorry.” The dog continued to lick him. “Are you okay? Can you talk?”
Penn pushed himself into a sitting position.
“I’ll live. Is this your dog?” He petted Lucky’s back.
“I’m his dogwalker.”
“Some dogwalker…can’t keep control of your dog.” His eyes moved from Lucky to the stunning woman crouched before him. His gaze roamed over her luscious figure with curves in all the right places.
“You’re okay?” Her brows knitted.
“No thanks to Lucky, here…or you, for that matter.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. When he sees a squirrel, he bolts. My fault all the way. I’m Miranda Bradford.” She stood up then extended her hand.
Penn used it to pull himself up.
“What can I do to make it up to you?” Miranda picked up the dog’s leash.
It was a gorgeous day in Central Park in New York City, warm, with clear blue skies and sunshine so bright it coated all the flowers and leaves with brilliance. It was a day like every other day in early June in New York City. Penn looked at his watch.
“Have breakfast with me at the boathouse.”
“I can’t…Lucky here.”
“We’ll eat outside. He’s allowed to sit with us.”
“Glad to see your injury isn’t fatal. It hasn’t killed your appetite.” She tried to hide a smile.
She wore black bicycle shorts topped by a low-cut turquoise tank top. The outfit molded her figure perfectly, leaving little to his imagination – which kicked into overdrive anyway.
“My stomach…and my appetite…have remained unharmed. Will you join me?”
So has my appetite for beautiful young women.
“Guess so. If you’re a serial killer, Lucky’ll protect me.”
“How? By licking me to death?” Penn continued to pet the retriever as they moved toward the lake. A smile played with his lips.
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