Excerpt of The Soul Mate Search by Morgan K. Wyatt

Rain started by the time she pulled into the grocery store parking lot. Her planned sprint turned into a walk as dizziness swept over her. Great, all she needed was to pass out. Making it into the store foyer, she shook to rid herself of the excess moisture, no doubt resembling a dog. The store cranked up the air conditioning normally, but today with damp clothing, it was frigid. She rushed through the store as her arms goose pimpled from the chill. A quick glance down at her wet shirt explained why the man stocking sodas stared at her, well at her chest anyhow. Pulling the wet shirt away from her skin, she headed for the grinder. Pouring the coffee beans into the grinder, she mentally calculated how long it would take her to return to the sanctuary of her house. So far, so good. No one she knew had seen her. Just as well, she didn’t want to make polite with anyone. Her bed called out to her. She could hear its siren call over the sound of the coffee grinder. Inhaling the aroma of fresh ground beans deeply, she thought the heavenly scent by itself might heal her. Taking her coffee, ginger ale, and snatching up some yogurt, she headed for the self-check scanner. She was ready to explain to the cashier who monitored the aisles she’d brought the coffee in with her, but the woman never looked up from her perusal of a gossip magazine. Her purchases bagged, she headed for the car. All she had to do was reach her car without any human interaction, when a man walking in spoke to her. “Your coffee smells wonderful. Is it a Sumatran blend?” She looked up into the face of a smiling man with curling damp hair and water spotted glasses. Her brain went dead. The absolute worse time to meet anyone. She managed to mumble her reply. “I think it is.” She walked away hoping he wasn’t watching her. Why couldn’t she run into men like that when she was dressed for work? Unlocking her car, she slipped on the smooth leather seat since her legs were wet. Could she look any worse? Men didn’t normally try to strike up conversations with her in the grocery store, with the exception of the butcher who tried to convince her to buy a more expensive cut of meat. Twisting the key into the ignition, she drove home. The brief flash of the man who talked to her came to mind. He was taller than she was, a little on the lanky side, curly hair with a few threads of silver, glasses, and brown eyes. Her foot stomped on the brakes. Oh my God, it was her soul mate!