Spunky Senior, Ginger Simpson, Has Just the Right Fit

I suppose being called a "Spunky Senior" isn't a bad thing.  I took me a long time to readily admit that I'd reached senior citizen status, but now I happily accept it because it does come with perks.  I get a check on the third Wednesday of every month, and my medical care, at least for the time being, is awesome.  The best part of being my age is having a grandson I cherish, but then if you know me, you've already heard about Spencer.  He's what keeps me "spunky."

I love to write, and I hope it shows in my work.  My upcoming release, Just the Right Fit, happens to be about a more mature heroine, and hopefully shows that romance is possible at any age.  I like to think that all my heroines are spunky, young and old, because if you're just living life day to day and not enjoying it, then you're missing out.  Here's a little teaser from Just the Right Fit, which is coming soon to Muse It Up Publishing (http://www.museituppublishing.com/):

Carolyn held an expensive walking shoe in her hand under the guise of inspecting it, but the gaze from the corner of her eye remained fixed on the handsome, mature salesman arranging a display across the room. The heat of his occasional glance served as a magnet, pulling her attention to him. She couldn’t ignore him if she tried.  He definitely was new—not the kind of hunk a gal forgot.

She shopped this specialty store whenever she needed new shoes, even though the prices were outside her restrictive budget.  One couldn’t put a tag on comfort, yet a pang of guilt stabbed at her as she thought of all the other things she needed: new tires, Freon for her car air conditioning, even a new bra.  Something had drawn her here today, but this was the first time she’d run across something much more interesting than footwear. Even at sixty-four and long past being a giddy schoolgirl, she hadn’t forgotten the feelings of an emotional roller coaster.

Countless years had passed since she’d been on a date, and the urge to flirt gnawed at her, but she’d forgotten how.  Back in the day, she would have had no qualms initiating a conversation and exchanging numbers, but her youth had sailed away, leaving her nothing but insecurities from a failed marriage and the string of bum relationships that followed.  Early retirement, forced by a situation with an intolerable boss, and the onslaught of legal matters, denied benefits, and health issues had taken a toll on her sanity.  Maybe she was crazier than she thought to believe anyone would find her in the least bit interesting.

She released a loud sigh and carried the single shoe back to a seat, waiting for service.  How could she get so excited over someone she didn’t even know? She stared into her lap and prayed for composure from the flush creeping up her neck. Maybe she should’ve shopped for a bra today instead.

“May I help you?”  The timbre of his voice matched the broadness of his shoulders and made her jump.  His tall silhouette blocked the light filtering through the front window, and her dipped chin seemed frozen in place.

She forced her head up.  “Y-es, I-I…” The words she sought lodged behind a lump in her throat. 

“I assume you’re holding the shoe you’re interested in.”  His smile dimpled his cheeks and displayed white, even teeth.

 An air of charisma hung about him while she felt caught up in a bubble of ridiculousness. She forced a smile and with trembling fingers, handed him the shoe.  “Yes, size seven please.”

Why in the world did this man have such an effect on her?  Could the draw be the splashes of gray at his temples?  It couldn’t be the slight limp she detected when he walked through the curtain to the storeroom.  But there was something—definitely something.  She thrummed her fingertips on the chair’s arm and fidgeted in her seat, waiting for his return—almost dreading the feelings he stirred and unsure how to handle them.

“Here we go.”  He appeared through the split material in the doorway with a beige box bearing the familiar logo of the footwear she’d learned to love.  With one hand, he hiked up his khaki slacks before kneeling in front of her. He removed her left shoe, his grasp warming her heel when he slipped off her worn pump.

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Hope you enjoyed this snippet.  Muse initiated the "Persephone Line" specifically for mature main characters.  Just so happened that my friend, Caryl, shared her experience with me at the right time and prompted this sweet romance.  I'm a true believer in love.  Having a husband who is ten years my junior keeps me feeling young and on my toes.  I joke about nagging him more to make him age at a faster rate, but reality is I need to adjust my attitude and act more his age than my own. Although no one seems shocked when I tell them I'm sixty-five, I hope they silently think, "Gosh, she sure doesn't look or act it."  Okay, so I can dream, can't I?  Sadly, they card everyone who buys alcohol here in Tennessee, and I find it highly annoying now when in the past I would have been flattered.  You'd think the age spots on my hands would be proof enough.  *lol* Age is just a number, and in my mind, I'm still twenty.  From one "spunky" senior to another...happy reading, and may your romance stay young and healthy forever.

Spice Up Your Life with Ginger

Ginger Simpson

http://www.gingersimpson.com

http://mizging.blogspot.com