Child of the Loch (Child of the Loch Series) Read Free Page A

My “quarter life crisis,” came early this lifetime, lucky me. It usually hits at 25 where you begin to question yourself and your accomplishments.
    I had a whole list of what’s, where’s and why’s flying through my mind like dog-fighting jets. I was sure that smoke was about to come whirling out of my ears and set off the fire alarm. My breathing was quick and short as I tried to follow my own thoughts. It seemed a bit like a panic attack or maybe even a mental breakdown!
    Hank sidled up to me. He licked my cheek offering the only comfort he could. What a dog! He was offering sweet consolation after I’d squashed him good! At that moment a cartoon image of a flattened paw broke up my fears, I almost quirked half of a smile.
    A tap on my shoulder brought me out of my momentary fight with reality. I opened on flinching eye then the other. When my breathing returned to normal, I saw my father. He was thoughtfully giving me the steely eye that stopped lesser men and women in their tracks. I knew what was coming. First, he would check and see if I was ok but then he would add a ton of fuel to the crazy fire. That was yet another reason why it was time to grow up and head out to newer and greener pastures.
    I could sense that my father was about to mention how all of my friends are married or entangled in some type of romance. There was a flash from his mind that was a mental checklist of my friends and their partners, as well as a list of potentials for me. I think he must be having a “crisis” of his own and wanting more children. My parents got a one shot deal and couldn’t have any more children after me. Apparently the stars and chromosomes aligned and poof there I was.
    I was their miracle and in my father’s eyes, I’m the next miracle maker...God help me. I’m not exactly 80 so hopefully I could ignore him for a few more years. I guess it’s another way of saying, “I’m going to hit the snooze on the biological clock …his, not mine…and celebrate my birthday.”
    Seriously though, why couldn’t he just buy a cherry red Jaguar with black leather seats? At least I might be able to drive a hot car, if I could get my dad out of it!
    At this exact moment in time, though, he was the source of most of my worries, irritations and agitations. His ideas of the perfect man for me and my own ideas were so vastly different. I like dating and I do like men (I thought I should throw that out there.) However, I much prefer them to be built like my dad but not as lean. I want a man with a brain, a bit of humor and a whole lot of warrior in him. I’m a strong lady I need a compliment to my strength.
    For my match-making papa, any singleton would do. Sure he preferred a male but he wanted me attached. Boy was I peeved when Sheila, his receptionist, had shown up for a dinner date. My matchmaker papa opted for men when I lost my temper at him.
    Since then, I’d met the tall, the small, the dashing and the dopey males from my father’s Landscaping and Nursery business and all the surrounding counties. Heck! I never knew there were so many single men around. I’d lost count but I know for sure that I had eaten dinner with them all and never saw them again. Thank the Heavens for small favors!
     
     
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    In fact, if I’d have to choose any of them, it would have been the nice gay man who loved sci-fi and had an online boyfriend. Actually, we’d spent a little time fooling my father and still kept in touch with weekly emails. It was a way for me to concentrate on my career and my life without my dad being a meddling yenta ( Yiddish Matchmaker ). He was so disappointed when we “broke up.”
    Last week, I got the news that this particular young man and his mate were moving in together. I was happy for them. I could read my father’s emotions like a book when I told him, “Yet another one of my friends had a chance at love that I didn’t.”
    The knock, more like a pound that nearly knocked the door off its