Page 1 of Landing Her Eagle
1
DAPHNE
“Good afternoon.Morgan Development, Daphne Foster speaking. How may I help you?”
Ugh. Why do Mondays come so soon? Obviously, there are people who enjoy their jobs and look forward to working, but that’s not me. There’s nothing wrong with my job. I help manage a handful of homeowners’ associations in Shifting Pines, New Jersey. I’m paid well, I like the people I work with. It’s not difficult. This job is like that boy who asks you out on a date. You go because he’s nice and you like him, but you don’t like-like him. There’s no spark. You feel guilty. You know he’s a catch and many girls would love to date him. You feel like there’s something wrong with you for not feeling it. There isn’t, of course. You either have chemistry or you don’t, and that’s fine. You want there to be a spark, but all you have is a fizzled sparkler.
Lately, I’ve been feeling like my whole life is a fizzled sparkler. I spend all week at a job that offers security but no stimulation. Once in a while someone doesn’t pay their association dues or puts more than two plastic flamingos in their yard and the attorney I work with needs to send a letter I type telling them to knock it the flock off. This past weekend, like all those before, I sat at home watching reruns ofMurder, She Wrotewhile knitting. Jessica Fletcher has traveled the world, adventuring well into her sixties. I spend my weekends sitting on my couch surrounded by yarn.
I’m too young to be this old.
I listen to the lady on the phone complain about a letter she received from our office and recommend that she email the attorney listed to work out a solution to her situation. Eight more minutes, and then I can go home and get ready to enjoy the best part of my week. I can do this.
As soon as my computer clock says five o’clock, I exit out of all the programs and shut down my computer. I walk out of the building with my coworker.
“Night, Mallory!” I wave as I duck into my car.
Since I didn’t leave the house all weekend, I need to swing by the supermarket on my way home so I have food for the week. I’m annoyed with myself for putting it off again, but I didn’t feel like shopping Friday, and I was really comfy on my couch all weekend.
I should sign up for one of those food delivery companies that sends you everything you need to cook a meal. A box on my doorstep every week would be so much better than the hell on Earth that is the supermarket. Everyone is buying their groceries tonight. Apparently, no one has used a self-check lane before and wants to give it a try tonight. I want to offer my skills gained as a cashier from my high school job and check them out just to get them gone, but I’m not allowed to do that anymore after last time. Whatever. Their loss.
The frustration continues in the car on the way home. “Go!” I scream at the car in front of me. Who stops for a yellow light in New Jersey? Now I’m stuck here for at least another cycle. Finally, I get through the light and drive as quickly as legally possible. With a sigh of relief, I pull into the driveway of my ranch home. Grabbing my bags and hurrying inside, I grumble because I hate having to rush. I check the grandfather clock in the living room corner. It’s almost seven o’clock. Usually, I wish the seconds would tick by faster, but tonight I need an extra moment to get myself together. I’ve just settled in with my iPad, phone, and rum with a splash of Diet Pepsi when my iPad dings. I smile when Logan’s face appears, wanting to FaceTime.
Yay! I love it when I can see him while we talk.
Yes, he is gorgeous with his wavy dark brown hair and forest-green eyes, but what really makes him so attractive are his facial expressions and the way he focuses on the person he’s speaking with. He can say more with a quirked brow than most people say in five minutes of uninterrupted babbling. When he’s talking to you, you feel you’re the center of his universe, like no one else exists to him but you.
I can’t suppress my giggle as the screen comes to life with my favorite face. “Hey, you! Where are you this week?”
Logan smiles. “Hey, Daph! I’m in Prague. You’d love it here. It’s gorgeous. The Baroque architecture is incredible. I can’t wait to show you the shots I’ve taken.”
Logan is a travel photographer focusing on European cities and architecture. We met in a history and architecture class our sophomore year of college and have been best friends ever since. He was a business major headed to law school, and I was an accounting major. We were each following in our parents’ footsteps. Instead of law school, he discovered his love of—and talent for—photography. I don’t know if it’s that he’s a golden eagle shifter and gets a literal bird’s-eye view of things that makes him so skilled, or if he possesses an innate talent, but his work is incredible.
“I bet they are stunning, like always. I can’t wait to see them. Where do you go next?” My lips curve into a loving smile.
“I don’t know where I’m headed next, but you’re welcome to come along.”
My heart leaps. He’s so considerate, always inviting me on his adventures. He’s a good friend, but I wish he saw me as more. Maybe it’s because I can’t shift? What fun would it be to be stuck with someone landbound when you’re able to soar high? I guess I’d be handy to watch the bags.
“Thanks,” I respond, “but some of us have a Monday-through-Friday, nine-to-five life to live.”
“That you hate,” he retorts. “I don’t understand why you trap yourself in an office. Gran told me how you used to dream of traveling. Remember that? You were going to be a tour guide?” A flurry of unspoken, frustrated emotions flash across his face.
I recognize them because I feel them in my chest too. I take a deep breath to quiet them.
“You know I can’t leave this house. I don’t want to be gone months at a time.”
“Get someone to watch it for you. Rent it out.”
It’s so easy for him to make suggestions like that. He hasn’t lost what I have. He doesn’t understand my need to have a safe harbor. It wasn’t always like this. When I was younger, I craved travel and adventure. I covered my walls with maps and calendar pictures of far-off places.
Then my parents died, and I started isolating myself. In a flash of headlights, I lost my world. I was in high school when the accident happened, and I moved in with Gran. She passed away while I was in college, so now this house is all I have left of my family.
I can’t lose it too.
Logan is always leaving. Everyone leaves me.
Gah, I sound so whiny and pathetic. People leave because I insist on staying put. Whatever. This house isn’t leaving me, and I don’t want to leave it.
