Page 1 of The Book Signing

Chapter One

ABIGAIL

That damn sun is glaring at me and even my sunglasses can’t save my eyes. Which is the last thing I need after a long flight from Chicago, Illinois, all the way to Down Under, as the locals say. Technically though, it's a quaint town in North Queensland, Australia.

I knew that I’d be staying in a resort but didn’t expect this. The layout is expansive, with bungalows and hotel rooms spread out, sprawling with a café, restaurant, bar andmini mart and, to top it off, a games room. Completely different to what I am used to, so no complaints from me.

But the best inclusion this place has to offer me is the breakfast buffet.

I step up to the Restaurant’s front desk and force a cheerful smile despite fighting jetlag. Fuck, I haven’t even started thinking about this morning’s event.

“Good morning. Can I have a table for one, please?” I ask, lifting my sunglasses on top of my head.

“Can I please have your name and room number?” says a man behind the small counter as he looks down at a clipboard in front of him.

“Sure. Abigail Rosens. Room 712.”

I don’t hear a peep from him until he smiles and says, “Yes, you’re down here for a complimentary buffet breakfast for the duration of your stay. Come, follow me, please.”

He places a little tick on the paper and then walks ahead, leaving me to trail behind.

Holy crap, they added complimentary breakfast for three days? What a great way to make someone feel special!

The man leads me to a table and quickly grabs a jug of water and a cup for me before returning to his desk.

The moment my butt makes contact with the soft seat, I sigh, then lean back into the chair. Anything is better than the seats on an airplane. I’m still feeling groggy, and my body hates me right now after being forced into two long flights from Illinois.

A yawn escapes me as I rub my temples, trying to wake myself up whilst sitting here in this large dining room. When I stare out through the wall-to-wall glass windows, the sun’s glare strikes me again, and I squint. Hovering a hand over my eyes, I turn to the sound of someone else complaining about the same issue. Although instead of sitting on their butts like me and enduring it, they use the logic that I seem to have left behind. They simply get up and seat themselves on the other side of the table.

Duh, Abigail!

I inconspicuously stand and move myself onto the chair opposite me, signing in relief as my butt sinks into the cushioned chair. Glad that I no longer need to scrunch my eyelids just to look at the surroundings.

As I take a moment to settle in, I roam my eyes over the view of the resort’s private beach; the sun highlighting the white powdery sand, making me want to sink my feet into the softness. A shortdistance past the sand, the water shimmers, leaving a beautiful image in its wake.

It’s so serene looking, something I don’t get back at home. It’s too busy and my life has no serenity. And then a waitress walks past me, and the familiar scent fills my nose.

Oh my God, coffee!

The most important part of the food chain. Coffee. I heard Australian coffee is different to American, and worth the taste, so I’m eager to have a taste whilst I’m here.

Kindly flagging a waiter, he comes over with a cheerful smile.

“A short black please.” I say, eyeing the table in the back of the restaurant.

The man notes it down and floats away with his cheerful smile, making me want to laugh at how chirpy he looks for an early morning. Well, for 7.30 am at least. Not early, but I’m recovering from jetlag, so this is hell. Hence the need for coffee and food.

Unfortunately, the grumble in my stomach makes an appearance, reminding me I haven’t even made it to the buffet table yet. I seize this opportunity to quickly get breakfast while I wait for the coffee.

Shoving my bag under the table, I take my cell phone and slip it into my back pocket. I stand and excitedly head over to the glorious buffet full of freshly baked and cooked delights.

These Aussies really know how to put on a spread!

“Hmm, what to choose, what to choose?” I mumble to myself, not caring if anyone hears me. The variety is truly amazing. They’ve got three sorts of eggs here, including my favorite, which is scrambled. From there, you can add baked beans, sausages, and hash browns. I turn and find another section filled with a feast of cold meats, cereals, and fruit salad. At this point, I don’t care about what the scales will say afterwards. This is too good to skip.

I’m back at my table in no time, in an attempt to fuel up for my busy schedule and, hopefully, to ease my jetlag. I ease back into my chair, and, with luck, I find the cup sitting on the table, steam billowing from it. I look back down to my plate, the scent filling my nose. I devour the variety of delicious goods that I helped myself to in minutes. How could I not? Soft scrambled eggs, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms and buttery toast.

Note to self; must take the opportunity to get a second serving.

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