The door wasn’t closing. Shiloh’s spirit opened up as she considered the possibilities.

She fixed a smile that she hoped looked authentic. Pretending to be content continued to be hard work.

If I were a character in one of my books, I'd be the optimistic one, believing the best and urging others to do the same.

She was returning home to be the wife of, mother of, First Lady of, but what did that really mean?

I don't watch reality TV, my reality is tough enough.

She liked the way a ray of mild autumn sun infiltrating the thick cluster of trees caught a reddish orange leaf swirling in the wind and transformed it golden yellow. She liked that it wasn’t a leaf she recognised, that she could name or associate with her past.