Congrats to Sherry and Sherrinda, winners of The Big Picture, book three in the Katie Parker series. Ladies, email me (jen at jennybjones dot com) your home addies, and I’ll get those books out to you.

My website has had some updates from the fabulous team at PulsePoint Design, and the prologue to Just Between You and Me is up. I thought I’d post it here as well.

Here’s a quick blurb of the story:

Just Between You and Me: Prologue

To some women, fear is a man walking out the front door and never coming back. To others, it’s looking at that black dress in the back of your closet and knowing–without a divine miracle or the return of the corset–you’ll never be a size six again.

For me, in this moment right now, it’s a Parisian river calm enough to lull a baby to sleep. And yet my palms are so slick with sweat, I can hardly maintain my grip on the boat rail. My heart beats violently in my chest and I haven’t heard a word that’s been said in the last hour.

“Here we go. Step off nice and easy.” Pierre, our guide, assists the captain by leaping onto the dock and tying the small vessel in place.

The crew of Passport to the World climbs out one by one. I go last, waiting for the black spots to subside as I stand and fight with gravity’s pull on my wobbly knees.

“You did great, Maggie.” Carley, my friend and producer, pats me on the back as I focus on everything but the water. Unlike the rest of my coworkers, she’s the only one who doesn’t ignore the fact that I turn into a psychotic mess anytime I have to shoot a location involving water. Sometimes I can get an intern or another cinematographer to cover for me, but I have to pick those battles. And hte lazy Seine is not worth calling in a sub.

“You need therapy,” Carley says.

“I need a chocolate eclair.”

She shields her eyes from the noonday sun and hands me a Dasani from her bag. “Let’s get some more footage at that cafe by the Champs-Elysees. I’m considering coming to Paris for my honeymoon. What do you think?”

My job as cinematographer for the travel show can be glamorous as the Eiffel Tower at sunset or as unattractive as a night in a leaky hut in Cambodia. Last year we became the number one show on Travel TV, picked up a few awards, and got moved to a killer time slot. I should be on top of the world–thrilled with life. But somehow lately I’m not.

My pocket buzzes, and I reach in and pull out my phone. My dad. Calling again. And two messages from John, my boyfriend. Are men born with a guidebook on how to be a nuisance? I could travel to the ends of the earth and some man would find me and expect some big sacrifice from me. Like a text. Or a date. Or a returned call. But I’m a busy person! I have things to do. Cities of the world to film. A week-old People magazine to read. And a candy bar in my bag that has been calling my name for the past two hours.

Getting out of the rented sedan, I stretch my arms, then reach for my camera.

“I want to talk to the cafe owner,” Carley says. “Will you translate again?”

“Sure.” We walk across the busy street and into the quaint restaurant. “Where’s the owner?” I ask a waiter in French, reminding him who we are and why we’re here.

He jerks his  head toward the back. “He’s taking a cigarette break.” The slim man stares at his full tables, his brows furrowing as someone shouts a drink order.

“If it’s okay, I’ll get him” I shoo the waiter away. “Don’t worry about us.”

I weave through the diners and back into the bustling kitchen, throwing up a hand in greeting to the staff. “Bonjour!” My eyes land on a partially opened back door, and I slip through it, blinking at the sun.

Beside me a Dumpster rumbles, and I gasp as I see two little legs sticking out, wiggling with the effort of digging.

“Hey,” I say automatically, then call out a greeting in French. “Salut!” I walk up to the Dumpster and tug on a dirty shoe.

A head pops up, and I’m face-to-face with a small boy, his cheeks smudged with grime, fear making his eyes round as dessert plates. He flings from the trash like a gymnast, his feet landing on the ground.

I hold out a hand. “Attends!” Wait!

Without a backward glance, he takes off in a  spring, running as fast as his little legs will carry him, dropping food behind like crumbs on a trail.

I sling my camera over my shoulder and race to the edge of the building, my lens trained on the slender blur. “Wait, please!” I shout to him in two different languages but he just keeps moving.

“Beggars.”

I whirl around and find the restaurant owner behind me. “Did you know him?”

He gestures toward the direction the boy ran. “What is there to know of one such as him? He is a thief and a pubic nuisance.”

My heart twists in my chest. “But he’s so young. So thin.” I step back toward the restaurant. “Obviously he was hungry.”

The owner laughs, his belly making his shirt dance. “I have a business to run. I cannot feed every stray dog that shows up here.”

My breath catches with the insult, but I bite my tongue, knowing Carley would throw me out like a stale croissant if I made him mad and ruined her interview. “Does he live nearby?”

“Who cares?” He slams the lid down on his Dumpster and flings open the cafe door. He steps back inside, leaving an odor of cigarettes.

Who cares? Sometimes I ask myself that very same question. Could I have helped that little boy if he hadn’t run away?

For a moment I stand there, the yellow sun beating down on my own red head. Who am I to help anyone anyway? I’m a girl with a camera and a suitcase. Nothing much more to give.

Because I’ve seen the world.

But sometimes I wonder. . . has it ever seen me?

*********

Stay tuned and we’ll post chapter one soon. Next week…more book giveaways!
Have a great weekend!

JEN

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