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Read-a-romance.com officially launched September 1, 08.   For the time being, we’ll be adding one free online romance story every week, so it’ll take us a while to populate the site with a variety of romantic reads.  However, our ultimate goal is to provide two or three free stories a week.

We’re actively seeking stories from a variety of romance genres, so whether you read western, historical, contemporary, young adult and so forth, we hope to have something here for you to read soon.

Please note this is an all ages site, so our free romance stories will be appropriate for even the youngest of readers.

Thanks for visiting.  Please come back!

L-J Greene

Okay, everything ached, but this trip didn’t come complete with a steaming hot tub.  They were roughing it, after all.

Man, she was so out of shape.

She toed off her hiking boots-which she’d likely never get back on again-peeled off her sport socks, and stuck her feet in the sluggish stream they’d been following. 

Wriggling her toes, she lay back and let the heat from the stone ease into her sore muscles.  

Ahh, nature’s own spa.

“Hey, Mellie Mel.  Move over.  That looks like a great idea.”

One of Belinda’s considerable hips slammed into her and nearly jettisoned her off the rock. 

“Ow!  Bee!  Watch out.  I’m in enough pain.”

“Waa, waa, whine.  I’m here to protect your virtue and stave off a war.  But don’t thank me or anything.”

Raising herself on one elbow, Mel looked down at Belinda.  “What’re you jabbering about?  You know I love you, but sometimes your nonsense gives me a headache.  You’re not making any sense.”

Bee smirked at her, than gestured behind her with a tilt of her head.   “Sure I am.  Our Mr. Darcy, ever so dark and brooding, was staring at you like you were some sort of concubine laying in wait for him. Your son noticed, and it’s plain as day he’s seriously considering trying to take out either Mr. Darcy or his son.  Since James isn’t suicidal, my guess is he goes for Cameron.”

Flopping back down on the rock, Mel said, “You’re making that up.  And stop calling him Mr. Darcy.  His name is Steven Bishop.   I’ve talked to him, and he is nothing like a figment of Jane Austen’s imagination. 

Bee whooped and sat up.  She leaned over Mel, blocking out the sun.  Entirely.  “You’ve talked to him?  When?  Where?  How could I have missed that?  Come on, spill.  Tell Auntie Bee all about it.  All about it, you hear?  No detail is to be considered irrelevant.”

Tenacious as a terrier, Bee hovered right in Mel’s face, and Mel knew trying to skirt the issue would be a pointless exercise.  Bee would get it out of her somehow.  

The sound of tumbling water and the rock’s penetrating heat offered peace, but the thoughts Bee stirred stole it from her.  “We talked last night.  When you and Caleb went for a swim.  The boys got into a bit of a scuffle and we had to pull them apart.  They got sent to their tents, and Steven and I chatted for a bit.  That’s all.”

“That’s all, eh?  Then why has he been looking at you like that all day?  Like he hasn’t eaten in a week and you’re a prime cut of filet mignon wrapped in bacon?  There’s got to be more to it then that.  What did you talk about?”

A loud voice spared her from answering.  “All right, troop.  It’s time to get moving!  Let’s get ready to move out.”

Mel sprang up and searched for her socks and boots, trying to ignore the finger Bee waved at her.  “Don’t think I’m letting this go.  You will answer me later!”

“Yeah, Bee.  Later.  I need to go find James.  I don’t see him anywhere.”

She found him a moment later.  Just inside the tree line, nose to nose with Cameron Bishop.  James, big for his age, and Cameron, small for his age, yet both of them holding an aggressive stance.

Fists on her hips and about to give her son a piece of her mind, Melanie found herself interrupted by a voice over her shoulder.

“Knock it off, you two.  You’ve been at each other since we got here, and I think it’s time you learned to work with each other instead of against each other.  Isn’t that what the point of this whole trip has been, anyway?”

Both boys, and Mel, whipped around to look at him. 

“Forget it!”

“No way!”

“What do you have in mind?”

As soon as the question passed her lips, Mel gulped and wished she’d kept her mouth shut.  Having that intense, brooding, and yeah, okay, Mr. Darcy like gaze pinning her was more than a little alarming. 

“The next leg of this hike requires some teamwork.  I’m suggesting the boys work together.  Which will mean you and I will have to… hook up.  Are you okay with that?”

“Hook up?” Mel squeaked.  “Ah… you mean… um, we’ll just team up like the boys, right?”

Steven raised a brow but didn’t deign to answer. 

“No way.  I’m not doing anything with the King Nerd of Dorkdom!”

Melanie whirled to face her son.   “James Clarence Anderson!”

“Clarence!  Haha!  And you call me a nerd!”

Steven barked, “Cameron!” and both boys fell silent.

“James, I agree with Mr. Bishop.  The two of you are going to have to work together.  The group is moving out, so get a move on.”

“Mo-om!”

“Don’t bother trying to change my mind.  Off you go.  And James, think about Gary while you’re at it.”

James narrowed his eyes at her, but did as she said.  Apparently Cameron knew when he was wasting his time and didn’t try to get around his dad’s orders.

Unfortunately.  Because Mel suddenly found herself alone with the man.  And since he made her feel jumpy and unsure of herself, she’d been trying to steer clear of him since the trip had begun.  However, between being the only two single parents on the excursion, and Belinda constantly trying to push them together, that had turned into something of a challenge.

Oh well.  It looked liked she’d finally have to relax and deal with the fact that he made her jumpy because she found him attractive.  And if he watched half as much as Bee said, maybe he felt the same way about her.

Only one way to find out. 

She fell into step with him.  “How do you know what’s up ahead?” 

He grinned down at her, as if he knew she’d deliberately struck up a benign conversation.  “I thought this trip was a good idea.  Why should these team building and problem solving exercises just be for the corporate world?  Cameron wanted to give it a try, and I agreed, but thought I should get the lay of the land first.  That’s how I know what’s up ahead.  And believe me, not too far ahead, those two are going to have to put aside their jock, geek differences and rely on each others strengths.  Who’s Gary?”

The question threw her.  Likely because she hadn’t really been listening to him.  She’d been cataloguing all she’d learned about him in the last few days, and concluding that it all equaled up to a really great guy.  Even if he did seem kind of brooding sometimes. 

“What?  Oh.  Gary.  He’s a kid that used to live a few houses down from us.  He was born without hair-I forget the name of the disease-and the kids would make fun of him because he was bald.  James always defended him.  Said you shouldn’t pick on other people just because they were different than you.  They ended up being great friends.”

“Your son sounds like a good kid.”

“He is.  Tell me about… oh, no.  Are they going to get hurt?”

They’d come to a part in the stream where the water ran much faster.  And their guide was leading everyone across it!  On a series of rocks. 

“No.  This is the one of the points in the trip where they start honing those team work and problem solving skills.  They’re both smart kids, and they each bring something different to the table.  If they work together, decide to trust each other, they’ll make it across just fine.”

Mel watched the boys, her mind full of the fact that soon it would be her turn to make the trip.  Chewing her lip, she looked up at Steven.

And found his intent gaze trained on her. 

He put his hand out to her.  “Will you trust me?”

She looked at his hand, then turned back to check on the boys.  They were about half way across the oddly placed stepping stones made by the rocks.  Yelling at each other of course, but she caught the undertone of laughter in their voices.  As if a grudging degree of camaraderie had sprung up between them.

Putting her hand in his, she said, “I’ll trust you to help get us across to the other side.”  Then she grinned, letting go of the insecurities that had plagued her since meeting him.  “After that, we’ll see.  You may need to convince me every step of the way.”

Tugging on her hand, he pulled her in close, then whispered in her ear.  “I fairly sure you’re worth the effort.”

“Then let’s get this team building started.”

The End

Learn more about Elle Fredrix at her SHOWCASE page!

Today, however, was worse than normal.  Blizzard like conditions had descended on the city the night before and showed no signs of letting up.  Still tense from this morning’s treacherous drive, she wasn’t looking forward to the repeat performance in the opposite direction.

Why did she have to be such a do-gooder?  The sparse traffic coming in this morning proved that most people had been smart enough-or something-to stay home. 

But not her.  Oh, no.   Saint Kelly-as her ex mockingly referred to her-didn’t shirk her responsibilities. 

Her team had a project due today, so she’d had no choice but to make it into work, no matter how death defying the trip.  Of course, everyone else, including her boss-who’d called around ten and said she’d managed a day’s grace on the deadline-had stayed home.   

Yet here she stood, at ten to five, just getting ready to leave.

She was such a sap.

After bundling up in her bulky parka and clunky winter boots-fashion had not been an option this morning-she headed out into a freezing February evening. 

She didn’t mind winter.  Really.

There were only a handful of cars in the lot. When she’d arrived this morning, she’d been smart enough to park with another clump of cars.  A few others hadn’t thought ahead and were boxed in by a mountain of snow, thanks to the snowplow.

At least she didn’t have to brush her car off and dig it out.

So intent on her task of clearing off her running vehicle, it took a while before she became conscious of a revving engine.  Someone was stuck.

Everyone should spend a few winters farther north.  They’d learn winter driving skills then.  Where she’d grown up, this much snow, and more, was the norm.

Then she realized who the driver was and immediately regretted her thoughts.  Raji was an immigrant.  She hadn’t even seen snow until moving here last fall. 

Kelly looked at her now warm car with longing.  It was every man for himself, right?

Wrong.  Not in her world.  She couldn’t just leave. 

Saint Kelly to the rescue.

It took her about ten minutes of pushing and shovelling, but Raji was finally able to pull forward.

She drove about ten feet, then stopped. 

What now?

Kelly walked up to the window again.  “Are you okay?”

Raji sat rigid, with hands clutched at ten and two.  Tears streamed down her face.  She began to shake her head.

In the perfect diction of one that had worked hard to learn a new language, she said, “No no no.  I cannot do this again.  I am too afraid.  This is…this is too much.  Too much snow.  It is dark.  I will have an accident.”

Kelly sighed. Why fight it? 

“Listen, I pass your turnoff on the way to my place.  Would you like me to drive you home?”

Tear filled eyes widened as they stared up at her.  “Yes!  You would do that?”

Yeah, she would do that. 

Since she’d chatted with Raji a few times, she knew where she lived.  Driving her home on a good day would add ten minutes to her commute.  Today?  Who knew?

“Come on, park your car, and let’s go.”

Moments later, they were buckled in and on their way.

More than forty-five minutes later, she pulled into the lot of Raji’s building.  Every five minutes or so Raji had thanked her for being such a nice person, but other than that, the drive had been a silent one.

Now she could head to her own home. 

And wouldn’t you know it?  Just before merging back onto her usual route, some idiot driving too fast in the other direction hit a patch of ice and nearly creamed her.  She instinctively swerved to avoid a collision and ended up straddling a small bank of icy snow.  There was no way she could extricate herself.  Not without help. 

Of course, other than her, the only people left on the road were bad drivers and people that had no inclination to lend a hand. 

Every man for himself.

Her ex’s voice droned in her head.  “See what happens when you get involved?”

As she sat there wondering who to call for help, someone knocked on her window. 

Startled, she looked over and saw a man standing there.  A quick glance in her rear view mirror revealed a car parked behind her.

He’d stopped to help!

Grateful, Kelly rolled down her window.  “Thank you so much for stopping.  I can’t get out of this one on my own.”

“I saw what happened.  Excellent reflexes.  It could’ve been a lot worse.  I’ll give you a push.” He smiled-and what a nice smile!-and said, “I take it you know what to do?”

She smiled back and nodded.

“Okay.  Let’s get you on your way.”

He had to try a few times, but finally her tires found traction.  Even though she’d only been gently pressing the gas pedal, her car shot forward. 

Once in control, she looked in her mirror.

He’d disappeared!  How could that be? 

She slowed to a crawl.

There he was.  Oh no, what had happened?  He was laying face down in the snow!

She stopped the car, jumped out, and ran back to him.

As she approached, he rolled over.

He shook his head.  “Shouldn’t good things happen when you help someone out?”

Grinning down at him, she said, “Oh, I think they do.  There’s a Starbucks a few blocks ahead.  If you’re not in a rush to meet up with someone, I’d like to buy you a coffee.  To show my appreciation.  Not too many people are willing to stop and lend a hand these days.”

Standing, he took off his gloves and whacked them together a few times to shake of the snow.  Then he stuck a hand out to her.  “There is no one, and I’d love to stop for a coffee.  I’m Derek.”

“Hi Derek.  I’m Kelly.”

The End

Aspiring author Sherrie Kingston doesn’t have a website, but she’s willing to share her love of short romantic stories with us.

Kate Middleton smoothed her hands over her slim hips and wriggled.  Life was good.

Sure, she had a lot to mourn over, but she had much to be happy about as well.  And she firmly believed that a positive attitude made any battle easier.  It had taken her a long time to accept that, but she finally did.

At fifty, she was happier than she’d been at forty, but not quite as giddy as she’d been at thirty.

Today was her day.  Three days a week, she worked at a law office, and one day a week she caught up on chores and errands.  But Fridays?  Friday was the day she went to the gym and then followed the wind wherever it blew her.

Car keys and gym bag in hand, she headed for her door.

The ringing of the phone pulled her up short.  Should she, or shouldn’t she?  She sighed.  She should.  After all, once a mother, always a mother.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom.  I’m glad I caught you.  I need you to do me a favour.  Can you pick up Melissa at school?”

“Hi, Honey.  Sure.  The usual time?”

Her daughter’s sigh brushed her ear drum.  “No.  I need you to go now.  There’s a crisis at the school, and they’re sending the kids home.  I’m tied up and wouldn’t be able to get there for at least an hour.”

Kate pressed a hand to her heart.  “What happened?  Is she okay?”

“Everyone’s fine, but there’s a gas leak a few blocks from the school.  The gas company has servicemen at the site, and the danger is minimal, but the school is erring on the side of caution.”

“Okay.  I’ll go get her now.  I just need to change into street clothes.”

Trina laughed.  “Bree, I’m sure you don’t need to change.”

Kate huffed at her daughter.  “Stop calling me that.  I do not look like one of the Desperate Housewives.”

“Sure you do, Mom.  I know you’re dressed in your gym suit right now, and I know you still look like a million bucks.  You do not need to change into ‘street clothes’ as you call them.”

She resisted the urge to grind her teeth.  They’d had this discussion too many times.  “Fine.  I’ll get Missy now.”

“Thanks, Mom.  I should be able to get away soon, so I’ll pick her up there.”

“No, it’s okay.  You stay at work, and Missy and I will spend the day together.”

“Okay, thanks.  See you when I see you, then.”

Kate hung up the phone and walked over to the mirrored doors of the coat closet.  She didn’t watch Desperate Housewives, but she’d tuned in once after Trina started calling her Bree.  So, okay.  Maybe there was a slight resemblance, and her velour jogging suit did look like the one Gabrielle wore, but still, she was just Kate.  Content with her life and in no way desperate.

She grinned at her reflection, flipped her red hair over her shoulder, and then headed for the door.  Trina was right.  She didn’t need to change.  Besides, the only people she’d run into were a group of six-year-olds and their teacher.

Or not.

Sitting on a curb outside the school, with Missy, a classmate named Jacob and the class rabbit-thankfully caged, and not going home with them-Kate watched the man walk toward them.  Missy had refused to leave her friend alone, so Kate had promised they’d wait until Jacob’s ride arrived.

Was this Jacob’s father?

“Uncle Eric!”

Okay, not his father.  And for some reason Kate found herself strangely relieved.  Eric, likely in his late thirties, or early forties, wasn’t her type, yet a trickle of awareness passed over her.

“Hey, J man.  I’m off work this week, so your mom called and asked me to come get you.  Is this your teacher?”

Hazel eyes rested on Kate, and she felt her pulse spike.  Wow, what was it about this guy?  She liked her men clean cut and dressed in designer suits, not scruffy looking and wearing jeans that had seen better days and a black t-shirt that had clearly been washed too many times.  Having some weird chemical reaction to a guy-and not that she measured a man by his age, but a younger guy!-she know nothing about, wasn’t her style.  And yet…

Jacob’s giggle broke the trance she seemed to have fallen into.  “That’s not our teacher, Uncle Eric!  That’s Melissa’s grandma!”

No matter how proud Kate was of her “grandma” status, her tummy tightened, and she winced.  Those eyes that apparently didn’t miss much sparkled beneath raised brows and slowly gave her the once over.

“Really.  Melissa’s grandma, eh?”

“Yeah.  She’s nice.  We gotta subs’tute teacher today, and she’s mean!”

Suddenly, his teasing-boyish-appearance was replaced with razor sharp intensity.  In front of her stood a-warrior-as he zeroed his attention in on his nephew.

“She’s mean?  How?”

Before Kate had time to decipher her reaction to the change in him, mayhem broke loose.  Missy, whose silence should have made her suspicious, let loose a screech, the rabbit escaped from its cage and took off across the parking lot, and the teacher came charging out of the front door.

“Who let that rabbit loose?  You little bra…”

Her hand lifted threateningly, and Eric planted himself right in her face.

“I’m Detective Eric Smithson, ma’am.  Jacob’s uncle.  That’s a very slippery slope you’re teetering on right now, and I suggest you back away from it.”

Kate grabbed a hand of each child, and started to chase after the rabbit.  It seemed Detective Smithson had things in hand here.

“Come on, kids.  We’ve got a rabbit to catch.  And Missy, you’ll have some explaining to do later.”

Ten minutes later, thanks to a coordinated take down headed up by Detective Smithson, the four of them had the rabbit back in the cage.

As they lay panting on the grass of the parkette that bordered the school, Eric grinned at Kate as his glance slid across her.

“So, since I refuse to call you grandma, how about you tell me your name?”

Smoothing her palms down her sleeves, and the goose bumps that had sprung beneath, she answered.  “I’m Kate.  Kate Middleton.”

He sprung up with an impressive display of agile muscles.  Reaching a hand down to her, he said, “Well, Kate Middleton, it is certainly a pleasure to meet you.  How do you feel about taking these kids to get an ice cream, and then seeing where things go from there?”

What was it she’d thought earlier?  That Friday was her day to follow the wind wherever it blew her?

“I think that sounds like a great idea.”

The fingers that still held hers as she stood gave hers a final tight squeeze and let her go.  Then he lowered his voice and moved in closer to her.  “Excellent.   I’ll take the rabbit, since Jacob has rabbit sitting duty this weekend, and while I’m in the car, I’ll make a phone call to the school board about her.”  He jutted his chin toward the school.   ”Their substitute teacher.  I’m not letting that go.”

“Oh, good idea.  Thank you.  That was just wrong.”

“Yeah.  But some things about today seem to be just right.”

Kate gulped, feeling a little scorched by his intensity.  Oh, yeah.  Life was good.

The End

Aspiring author Sherrie Kingston doesn’t have a website, but she’s willing to share her love of short romantic stories with us.

Why had she agreed to this?

Tami Griffith scowled at her best friend, who seemed unnaturally gleeful today.  For some reason Kim thought this treasure hunt was a big deal, and she’d hounded Tami about joining in until she’d agreed just so she could get a moments peace.  

“Here are the rules.  Each of you will be given a series of clues.  Figure out the clue, find the checkpoint and get your next clue.  The first one to finish wins.  It’s not a million dollars, but I’ll be jealous of the winner.  Good luck, everyone.”

Tami grabbed the envelope handed her and ran to her car. Okay, so she’d always been a sucker for treasure hunts.  Why not just have fun?

After buckling in, she checked her first clue.  Where in the world is a medieval castle in Toronto?

Oh, please.  Casa Loma, of course.  Hopefully all the clues wouldn’t be so simple.  There should be some challenge involved!

She made it to her checkpoint in good time.  The guy in the neon green “Amazing Treasure Hunt” t-shirt was easy to spot.  ”Hi.  I’m a contestant.”

“Here’s your next clue.”

“Has anyone else been here yet?”

Tami’s only answer was a smile.  Hookay.  Moving on. 

She tore open the envelope.  Where in the world can you lie back and watch a screen in a dome?

Hmm.  The JumboTron at the SkyDome?  No.  You didn’t lie back.

By the time she reached her car, she’d figured out the answer.  The Omnimax Theater at the Ontario Science Centre, with it’s reclining seats, and a domed screen in the ceiling. 

As she drove there, a ball of unease settled in Tami’s belly.  Something nudged her brain, but she couldn’t quite grasp it.  What?

Oh, well.  Whatever.  She was having fun, and the clues were easy.  Maybe she’d win the prize.  Having something good happen would be a nice change.  

The last time she’d thought something nice was happening to her it had turned out to be the biggest heartbreak of her life. 

She sighed.  She refused to think about that-about him.  Kim had forced her into this, but Tami was enjoying herself.  She wasn’t about to let thoughts of the past bring her down.

When she arrived at the Science Centre, she scoped out the people around the front entrance.  When she caught sight of another neon green shirt, she pulled to the curb, put her hazards on, and ran up to her contact.  “Hi.  I’m Tami, here for my next clue.  This has been easy so far.  Am I winning?”

Another smile, another envelope.

Where in the world do Princes — or is it a Princess? — stand guard?

No challenge here.  The Princes’ Gates stood guard at the Canadian National Exhibition.

In the car again, a thought struck, and she gripped the steering wheel.  Is this why she’d been feeling uneasy?

Most people in Toronto mistakenly referred to the Gates as the Princess Gates, instead of the Princes’ Gates.  She’d discussed it with one person in her life.  And if she ever saw him again she’d…she’d…  Well, she hoped she never saw him again. 

This had to be nothing more than an eerie coincidence. 

But her stomach remained in knots, and when she read the next clue, she nearly lost her breakfast.

Where in the world can you find peace in the middle of the square?

In the centre of Nathan Phillips Square stands a tiny building, part of the Peace Garden. Its pitched roof appears to be damaged, signifying conflict, its structure seemingly supported by an eternal flame, a symbol of hope and regeneration.

Justin had to be behind this.  Every stop had been something they’d shared.  He’d proposed at the Peace Garden.

No, this has nothing to do with him.  You’re letting him haunt you.

In trepidation, she continued.  Like the driver who can’t look away from a roadside accident, she felt compelled to carry on.

Justin Taylor sat on a concrete block at the Garden.  His face remained devoid of expression as she approached him.  He stood up, but didn’t say anything.  

Without conscious thought, her palm sailed toward his face.  “You ba…”

His hand caught hers.  “I deserve that, but I know you.  You’ll feel guilty.”

She sneered.  “You don’t know me.  I’m not the same person you walked out on a month before our wedding.”

“You’re right.  I’m sorry.  Will you let me explain?”

“No.  You should’ve explained five years ago.”

He closed his eyes and blew out a huge sigh.  “I know.  But…but something happened.  It messed me up.  I knew how much you wanted to be a mother, and I… I couldn’t take that away from you.”

“What?  You left because you suddenly decided you didn’t want children?  I don’t want to hear any more of this.”

She started to turn away.

“No.  Please.  I left because…because I might not have been able to give them to you.  I found a lump…”

Tami gasped.  She’d spent years conjuring up reasons for his leaving.  None of them came close to this.  “Oh, my God.”  Her eyes drifted down.  “Are you okay?”

He grimaced.  “I’m cancer free.  It was five years last week.  I’m lopsided, but I can still give you kids.  If you want them.”

She chose to ignore that.  For now.  “Let me get this straight.  You just walked away from us?  You didn’t think to discuss it with me first?”

“I told you.  I…  You wanted kids.  What if I couldn’t…?”

“So what if you couldn’t?  I wanted your children.  I wanted us to be a family.  You were the foundation I wanted to build on, and you walked away.  You had no right to make that decision for us.”

She glared.  “And today.  How could you set me up like this?”

“I had to.  I knew you wouldn’t agree to see me.”

“So you decided to go to all this effort to force a meeting.  Stop taking my choices away.”

“I’m sorry.  I know I didn’t do the right thing five years ago.  And I’m willing to concede forcing this on you wasn’t fair, either.  Tami, please.  I had to see you.  Tell me what I need to do to make this right.”

She looked at the eternal flame.  Hope and regeneration.  Could they rebuild?  Did she want to?  This man had nearly destroyed her.

Although… Maybe she would have done the same thing in a similar situation.

 ”We’re not the same people, so it may never be right.  If we try this, we start over, not from where we left off.”

“Then let’s start over.  Hi, I’m Justin Taylor…”

The End

Aspiring romance writer Nan Donahue is web shy, so we don’t have a site to lead you to.  Nan has been writing short stories for Woman’s World magazine, and hopes to be published by them in the near future.

Kevin watched her reflection in a mirror and saw the sigh that gusted out of Catherine’s mouth and ruffled her hair as she sat back in her chair, closing her eyes.

It was time to make his move.

Before she became aware of his presence behind her, he cupped the back of her neck, his thumb caressing her just under her left ear.  He felt her pulse leap, saw a smile burst across her face as she turned to look back over her shoulder.  Kevin stepped up beside her and watched as her smile died.

Yanking herself away from his touch, she frowned at him.  “What’re you doing here?”

Kevin just gave her a long-suffering look.  Then, jerking his head, he said, “Come on.  Let’s go.”

Catherine hunched a shoulder and turned her head away.  “Get lost.  I don’t need you to rescue me.”

He glanced at the two empty water bottles sitting before her and pulled a bill out of his wallet to leave on the table.  Then he stood there for a moment, gazing at the top of her head, his mind juggling the usual spank her or kiss her debate.  Under his breath, he said, “Yes, you do.  And this time I’m going to do it right.”

In one way or another, he’d been rescuing her since they were kids, and she’d always resented it.  Whether as a pre-pubescent tomboy, or the swan she’d evolved into, she’d been diving headfirst into catastrophes and he’d been reeling her out.  And though until just recently — he hoped — she’d viewed him as nothing more than a bothersome big brother, he’d never considered her a sister.

Kevin’s problem was that every time he’d tried to tell her how he felt, he’d muck it up, the result being she’d never believed him.

He reached down and started to pull her chair out from the table, the muscles of his arm flexing.

She didn’t surprise him.  True to form, Catherine was stubborn and tried to dig her feet in, but after a brief struggle she must have realized it was pointless.  With a sigh, she let him help her up and followed him out of the restaurant.  They walked for a block without speaking, but he had no problem reading her thoughts.  She had an expressive face, and he’d been translating it for years.

Before long he was unlocking the passenger door of his car.  “Come on.  Get in.”

She pulled away from him, then turned and lifted her head and looked into his eyes, still not saying anything.

Kevin felt his lips twitch.  “What?  Still mad at me?”

She settled her butt back against the side of his car and shook her head, a sad look on her face.  “I’m not mad at you.  I’m mad at Mark.  Mad at myself — or at least disgusted with myself.”  His heart clenched as tears began to roll down her face.  “What’s wrong with me, Kevin?  Why is it so hard for me to find someone who will care about me once in a while, instead of thinking only of himself?  Someone who can remember which night of the week is my night, and which night is the night with the guys.”

Taking a step forward, she settled herself against his body, her arms around his waist, the side of her face resting on his throat.  His chin came down, and using it, he gently rubbed the top of her head while his arms surrounded her in a gesture of comfort and protection.  Their movements were fluid and natural, as if they’d stood like this many times before.  They had.

Catherine mumbled into the bare flesh beneath her mouth, “If you crack a joke, or make fun of me, I swear I’ll bite you.”

Kevin cupped the back of her head, pulled back, and dropped a kiss on her forehead.  “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?  All right, no jokes, no making fun.  Come on.  Get in the car.  Everything will be okay.  I promise.”

Frowning up at him,  Catherine said,  “I have my own car here.”

Lightly squeezing her head, he said, “Kitty Cat, I told you to get in the car.  Now get in!”

Wrenching herself out of his hands, nearly hissing like the cat he’d just called her, she said, “Don’t call me that!  And how many times have I told you, you are not the boss of me!”

Grinning, he replied, “I’ve lost count.  But I do remember that you were six years old the first time you said it.”

Grumbling, crossing her arms over her chest and staying her ground, she said, “For all the good it’s done me.”

Exasperated, Kevin said, “Fine, I didn’t want to do this here, but you leave me no choice.”  With that, he pushed her back against the car, using the weight of his pelvis to hold her there, letting her feel one facet of his desire, but knowing he had to make her understand the extent of it.  With a deep breath, he said, “You’ve been a part of my life since you were six, and I was eight.  So I can speak with authority and say there is nothing wrong with you, Cat.”  He paused.  “I wanted to drive you to the park near where we lived when we were kids.  I was fourteen years old the first time I told you I wanted to marry you, and that’s where we were.  Since then I’ve told you four times.  And each time, it was in that park.”

He felt her gasp and heard the wobble in her voice as she said, “I told you no jokes.  You’re making fun of me again.”

Kevin leaned his forehead on hers.  “Sweetheart, it’s never been a joke.  But the way I feel about you scares me, so every time I tried to tell you I deliberately made it sound like I was teasing.  But I was serious, even when I was fourteen.  Every time, I was standing there with my heart in my palms, offering it to you.”

Catherine put her hands on his chest and pushed him away, looking up into his face.  “What are you saying?”

He swallowed around his heart, which had taken up lodging in his throat.  “I guess I still haven’t said it, have I?  I love you, Cat.  I want you to be my wife.  And lately I’ve been thinking that, just maybe, you love me too.”

She punched him on the shoulder and then yelled in his face.  “You moron!  Of course I love you.  Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Laughing, Kevin grabbed her fist, and then pulled her tightly to him.  Lowering his mouth to hers, he said, “I’ve been asking you to marry me since I was fourteen!  What more do you want?”

The End

Learn more about Elle Fredrix at her SHOWCASE page!

She plunked down in her aisle seat and ran a hand through her chestnut hair. A wave of relief washed over her at the sight of the two empty seats beside her. She didn’t have the energy or the desire to make small talk with anyone today, least of all with strangers. All she wanted was to be alone. There was a time when she’d been eager to strike up a conversation with someone she didn’t know, the life of every party, the one who made others feel at ease in social settings.

But that was then.

This was now.

Jenna hated what she’d become since the divorce. It was one of the main reasons why she’d decided to pack up and move to Atlanta. She needed a fresh start, a chance to reinvent herself in a place where the memory of Drew’s infidelities wouldn’t shadow her every step of the way. The booming city was exactly what she needed-a place where no one knew her business, and furthermore, no one cared.

Her pulse thudded in her ears as the gravity of the situation finally hit her. She was starting over. Moving to a city where the only person she knew was her sister, Meg. Since she’d made the decision to move two months ago, she’d tried not to think about what would come next. Sure she had a good sum of money in the bank from the divorce settlement and an apartment that she’d prepaid for the first six months, but then what? Get a job? Write the novel she’d always talked about? Go back to school? The possibilities were endless.

Too endless.

For seven years she’d been so busy being the good doctor’s wife and obsessing over their unsuccessful attempts to have a baby that she hadn’t had a chance to figure out who she was or what she wanted from life. But now she had all the time in the world…and it scared her to death.

Jenna’s chest tightened uncomfortably and her breaths came quick and shallow. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t the type of person who could start over. She should get off this plane right now and ask her parents if she could move back in with them. At least then she wouldn’t have to face the uncertainty of the future and the possibility of failing at what she did next-just as she’d failed at her marriage.

A sudden bump on the elbow jolted Jenna back to reality. She glanced up at the source: a black carry-on bag being pulled by a pair of brawny shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” the owner of the bag and the shoulders said as he craned his head to face her.

“That’s okay,” she mumbled, sinking back in her seat to be alone with the panic still swirling in her chest.

But he didn’t move on.

“Jenna? Jenna Miller? Is that you?” she heard him say.

She couldn’t remember the last time anyone called her by her maiden name, so it took a minute to register that yes that was her name-again.

By the time Jenna looked up, the man had turned full circle and was pushing his bag back up the aisle until he was beside her. Now able to get a good look at his face, a wave a familiarity washed over her.

“Doug?” Jenna asked feeling some of the tightness in her chest subsiding. “Oh my…Doug Saxon. I haven’t seen you since… high school graduation? Has it been that long?”

She and Doug had gone to the same small town high school. Although they hadn’t been close, with several mutual friends they often found themselves hanging out in the same places, going to the same parties. Doug looked much the same as he did when she last saw him. His sandy hair was cut shorter now, but it still curled slightly around his ears. And he’d managed to maintain the trim physique that Jenna had secretly admired as a teen.

“It has. It has. How’ve you been?” he asked casually.

As she looked up into his warm brown eyes, Jenna thought about his question. How was she? She was alone for the first time in seven years. She was scared out of her mind. But the realization suddenly hit her; she could handle this. After what she’d been through-she could handle anything.

Like a balloon pricked by a pin, she felt all of the tension that had been building released in a sudden rush. “I’m okay, Doug,” she answered truthfully. “And you?”

“I’m good. Just heading back home to Atlanta after visiting my parents. They keep bugging me to move home, get married, give them some grand babies. You know the drill.”

Jenna chuckled, feeling more at ease than she had in some time.

He looked at her intently, his eyes searching her baby blues. “You know, it’s weird; I was thinking about you the other day. It’s really great to see you.”

“Would you like to sit down and catch up?” She was so shocked to hear the words come out of her mouth that she nearly turned to see where they came from.

His full lips spread into a smile. “Sure.”

Doug settled in beside her, and as they chatted about mutual friends and his life in Atlanta, Jenna felt warm, comfortable, and wondered why she’d never considered dating Doug in high school.

“So why are you going to Atlanta? Meeting your husband?”

The question hit her like a blow to the chest. It was a perfectly reasonable question, she knew. Most people their age were married. But back in her hometown, everyone knew about the divorce, so she hadn’t had to deal with the questions. She realized that now she was going to have to get used to it.

She took a deep breath. “No. I’m divorced, so it’s just me.”

Doug’s eyes filled with concern. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied with a shrug of the shoulders. “Actually I’m moving to Atlanta, and to tell you the truth, I’m pretty nervous about the whole thing.” It was the first time she’d admitted it to anyone, and it made her feel a little better.

“Well don’t be.” he replied. “It’s a great city. You’re gonna love it.”

“I hope so.”

“Since you’re new to The Big Peach, maybe I could take you out and show you the sights sometime.” A slight smile tugged at his lips.

Jenna’s heart sped. “I’d like that, Doug.”

And as the plane took flight, her heart soared along with it.

Yes, things were looking up.

She was starting over.

The End

Learn more about Marcy Bassett-Kennedy at her SHOWCASE PAGE.

Grant sat back in his chair.  Okay, that wasn’t exactly true.  He loved his job.  Several of his friends were envious of his job.  After all, he traveled to amazing places on the company’s dime.  It’s just that what he’d once considered a fringe benefit had become nothing more than a fringe pain in the butt.

The reality of all this travel was that life was passing him by while he was thirty thousand feet in the air.  While his buddies were getting married and having kids, he was sitting in business class gazing out a window smaller than his laptop case.  He’d started thinking of every cloud he’d flown through as a missed opportunity.

Or, like now, he was sitting in a hotel coffee shop killing time between checkout and flight out.  Feeling sorry for himself. 

Was it time to make some major changes in his life?  Was this what he really wanted?  Unfortunately, the answer to the second question was yes.  At least to some extent.  He couldn’t imagine doing another job.  But the flip side was he wanted more.  He wanted a wife.  Kids.  But none of the women he’d dated up to now were willing to go the distance with a guy that was gone half the month.  And, okay, he could understand that.  However, the truth was he’d probably arrange to be at home more often if he had a family.  The way things stood right now, he had no reason to go home, so he actually travelled a bit more than necessary and had become the company’s wunderkind. 

He sighed and started at the bottom of his empty coffee cup.  That’s how his life felt-empty.  At this rate, he’d never get the chance to be a wunderdad. 

“Excuse me.  Do you mind sharing a table?  There aren’t any free.”

Pulling his morose thoughts-not to mention his eyes-from the depths of his cup, he looked up.

Hel-lo.  

It took a moment for Grant to place her, but he soon realized he’d seen her in here a few times before.  But in the past, nothing about her had ever made an impact.  That was because he’d never seen her eyes this close.

She had the most amazing eyes.  Personally, he’d never seen the big deal about blue eyes.  Probably because most blue eyes were a pale, washed out, blah kind of blue.  Not hers.  They were the bluest blue eyes he’d ever seen.  A deep royal blue.  Or-what did they call that colour?  Oh, yeah.  Azure.  That was it. 

They made an otherwise unremarkable face-truly remarkable. 

Snapping out of an almost trancelike spell, Grant realized he was staring.  Dumbfound.  He hadn’t even answered her.  Yeah, he was Mr Smooth.

His eyes left hers and darted around the restaurant.  What?  Like he needed confirmation she was telling the truth about the lack of an empty table?  Who cared if it just some lame pickup line? 

With what he hoped was an easy grin-and not the near leer he was afraid his face might form-he said, “Sure.  Have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

As he moved his newspaper and PDA out of her way, she aimed a polite smile at him, then put her tray down on the table and sat down.  Pulled a book out of her purse, then sat her purse down on the floor at her feet.  All of her movements confident, fluid, composed.  Obviously, in no way embarrassed about having to share a table. 

Grant found himself impressed even more.  He admired self-assurance. 

Then she picked up her book and her coffee and carried on as if he wasn’t there.

Well, he admired self-assurance, but he wasn’t a huge fan of being treated as if he was invisible. 

He sighed.  Told himself to get a grip.  After all, what did he expect?  She’d asked to share his table, not his life.  Just because he was sitting here feeling sorry for himself didn’t mean she cared.  And besides, he had a flight out in less than an hour.  Why even bother trying to strike up a conversation in the hopes that it could lead somewhere?

He thought of her eyes.  If it were true that the eyes were the windows to the soul, he wanted to know her.  That’s why.  He wasn’t in the air watching clouds-opportunities-pass him by.  His feet were firmly planted on the ground and an opportunity was sitting across from him.

“Good book?”

She jumped.  Great, Markham.  Scare her.  She’d obviously been so absorbed she’d forgotten he was there.

“Sorry.  I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She grinned at him.  “It’s okay.”

“I’ve seen you in here before.  You always have your head buried in a book.  Do you work here at the hotel?”

“No.  I don’t live far from here.  I love to read and I need to read, but if I stay home, it won’t get done.  So, I come here instead.”

The more he thought about that, the less sense it made. 

He had to ask.  “Too many distractions at home?  Kids?”

She shook her head.  “No kids.  Nobody at all.  Just my computer.”

Huh.  What? She was addicted to her computer?  Was she some kind of gamer or something?  Maybe a cyber stalker.  Or maybe she was into chat rooms.  He knew people that spent hours in chat rooms.  Personally, he’d rather communicate with real, live people. 

Oh well, he’d taken a chance, but it looked like chances were she was a weirdo. 

She must have read his expression.  With a laugh, she said, “I guess I need to explain that.”

He didn’t say anything, just raised he brows.

She continued.  “I work from home.  I’m a writer.  Sometimes-most of the time actually-it’s hard for me to drag myself away from the computer.  I’m one of the lucky ones.  My muse flows freely.  If I don’t pace myself, I’d be at it twenty-four seven.  And a writer must read.  This writer,” she pointed to herself, “must have coffee as well.  My need for caffeine is more powerful than my desire to keep writing. So, I make sure I have at least one cup of coffee a day away from home.  Since I’m away from the computer, I use the time wisely and read.”

Okay.  She wasn’t a weirdo.  That made perfect sense.

“Sounds like your lifestyle must be rough on your social life.”

A look of grim acceptance passed across her face.  “What social life?  Oh, I’m not totally pathetic.  I do have friends, and we do get together regularly, but that’s about it.  My writing-my obsession-is somewhat tough on long-term relationships.”

Those blue eyes suddenly widened, and she shook her head, obviously chagrined.  “Would you listen to me?  Apparently I don’t talk to my friends often enough, or I wouldn’t be spilling my guts to a complete stranger.”

He smiled.  “It’s okay.  You must have sensed a kindred spirit.  I totally understand where you’re coming from.  I travel a lot for work, and it’s cost me a few relationships.  They didn’t like me leaving them alone for long stretches.  By the way, my name is Grant Markham.”

Smiling, she grasped his outstretched hand.  “Karen Saunderson.”

After letting go of her hand, Grant looked at his watch and suppressed a groan.  Talk about bad timing.  He had to head for the airport.

“Listen, I need to catch a flight out.  But I’m back in town in three weeks, and I always stay at this hotel.  If you’d like, how about calling reception and getting my number?   We could spend your coffee break together.”

Her incredible eyes gleamed.  “I’d like that.  I really would.”

The End

Aspiring romance writer Nan Donahue is web shy, so we don’t have a site to lead you to. Nan has been writing short stories for Woman’s World magazine, and hopes to be published by them in the near future.

Jason Hutchison had seen her every morning this week, but she had yet to see him.  Today he wasn’t going to be so quick to step away.

This was his favourite time of day.  Peaceful.  The insanity of work yet to begin.  With coffee in hand, he spent the time before leaving for work out on his back deck.  It was a time for reflection while the world was still hushed.  No neighbours outside with barbeques sizzling and music blaring.  Just him, his quiet thoughts, and the sunshine.

Then on Monday, his peace had been-ruffled.

As he’d stood at his railing, he’d heard a door slide open and turned toward the sound.  An odd tension had arced through his body as he watched her appear on the deck of a house behind his.  At his elevation, he had an unrestricted view.

She’d been in her pyjamas, and was incredibly sexy.  Oh, she wasn’t wearing something revealing and skimpy.  No, she was fully covered in men’s style PJs.  But they were some satiny, fluid material that caressed a leggy, lithe body.

He’d stood back a little and watched as she walked out onto the deck, set down a mug, then raised her arms to the sky and stretched.  After that, she settled down in a lounge chair, shook back her long, tousled dark hair, and drank whatever was in that mug.  Head back, body relaxed, obviously at peace with her world.

Wow, he’d thought.  Where had she come from?

Today was Friday.  Every morning this week had been the same.  She’d come out in her PJs, stretch toward the sun, then sit back and drink her-coffee?

And every morning he’d step back so she couldn’t see him.  Since watching her like this was beginning to make him feel like a pervert, this morning he planned to make eye contact.  This time, as she walked across her deck, he stayed at his railing.

About halfway across her deck she noticed him, and faltered.

Jason saluted her with his mug, and after a brief hesitation, she returned the gesture.  Then she turned and headed back toward her door.

He groaned.  No. Scaring her away had not been the plan.

As if his thoughts telegraphed themselves to her, she halted.

For whatever reason, she changed her mind, and direction, and instead of heading for the door, she went and sat down on her lounge chair.  Head back, body relaxed, obviously at peace with her world.

He smiled.  Good for her.

His relief that she hadn’t been scared away was partly-okay, mostly-selfish.  However distant, he enjoyed her company while they greeted the day.

She wasn’t there the next morning.

Oh, well.  It was probably just as well.  No doubt, he was fantasizing about someone’s wife and mother.

Saturday afternoon, as usual, found him wheeling his cart up and down the isles of his local grocery store.  And, as usual, he was muttering to himself about the crowds and the screaming kids, and asking himself why he didn’t find another time to shop.  Oh yeah, because he worked all week, and like a lot of other people, this was the only time he had to do it.

As he squeezed by a little boy whining for Froot Loops^TM while his mother put Special K^TM in the cart, he caught sight of a curtain of dark hair.  He knew that hair-didn’t he?  Hadn’t he watched it for the last five mornings as she went back into her house?

He decided to talk to her-if it really was her.  Convince her to feel free to enjoy the morning despite the fact he was doing the same.  And maybe-maybe find out something about her.  He knew they had one thing in common.  Could there be anything else?

He glanced at her face as he went by, and yes, it was her.  This close he could see her expression.  She was animated, vibrant.  Except that changed when she saw him.  All of a sudden, she looked reserved, hesitant.

He was about to speak when he saw her cell phone pressed to her ear.

Oh well.  He shrugged, smiled, and started to move on.

She offered an equally tentative looking smile and wave, then turned her head and spoke into her phone.

At the last second possible before it would’ve looked obvious, Jason glanced at her left hand.  Hmm, no rings.  He knew plenty of men who didn’t feel the need to wear a ring despite what their wives thought, but he’d yet to meet a woman who felt that way.  If they had a ring, they proudly displayed it.

Maybe she was unattached.

Hopefully he’d get another chance to talk to her.  Of course, he did know where she lived, and could just go knock on her door, but that seemed a bit too pushy and creepy.  He’d be the pervert who watched her every morning and a stalker.  That would make a great impression!

Monday and Tuesday, he greeted the morning alone and was oddly depressed by it.  Somehow, his enjoyment diminished when she wasn’t there.  How could that have happened in such a short period of time?

Then Wednesday, she was back.  He hated to admit-even to himself-that he’d been watching her door, but he had.  He saw her the second she walked out.  The first thing she did was look across to him, then wave.

He was sorry to see her fully dressed.  Even though her PJ’s had covered more than what she had on now.  She was wearing a power suit.  Huh, so maybe she was corporate, just like him.  If so, that would be another thing in common.

Over the next few days, she would pop into his mind at odd times.  For someone he’d yet to have a conversation with, she’d sure made a lasting impression.

Saturday, while at the grocery store, he welcomed the crowd.  In his mind, more people increased the chances of her being there.

He didn’t see her.

Then on Tuesday, he forgot to stop at his corner mailbox on the way home, so he walked over.

And there she was.

When he was about three feet away, she smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi.”  He stuck out his hand.  “I’m Jason Hutchison.”

She took his hand.  “Heather Greer.  You’re a morning person.”

“Yeah.  It’s the most peaceful time of my day.”

“Me too, but sometimes my schedule doesn’t let me enjoy it.”

“I thought I was keeping you away.”

“No.”  She raised a brow.  “Shall we walk back together?”

The End

Aspiring romance writer Nan Donahue is web shy, so we don’t have a site to lead you to. Nan has been writing short stories for Woman’s World magazine, and hopes to be published by them in the near future.

Lucy still had no idea what had prompted her to hold onto the house. Lord knows, she couldn’t have been any quicker about unloading her own house and all the memories it contained, but even with painful memories, something had caused her to put off selling her childhood home. Maybe she’d known deep inside it was a chapter in her life she’d never written the end for. Despite the grief that had entered her life, Lucy clung to optimism like a shipwreck victim would cling to a life preserver. There had to be something better around the next bend. You couldn’t simply close the book on a bad part. There had to be an epilogue. A happily ever after, or at least a vague sense of completion. Maybe that’s what had brought her back after all these years, a need to find a thread of happiness woven into the blanket of despair that covered her past.

She dropped her bags, and eased a few steps in. The place hadn’t changed. Worn furniture covered in a fine patina of dust crowded the small combination living and dining room. She glanced up the stairs, shut her eyes and heard the music she’d blasted on her old stereo. And her father. “Come into the den, Lucy.”

She’d never wanted to go into the den. Home of the fire and brimstone lectures, and spare the rod, spoil the child corporal punishment.

She’d never intended to come back to this old neighborhood with its antiquated wartime bungalows, and the war-like memories she retained of growing up at the mercy of her father’s drunken tirades. She hadn’t returned since she and Adam had conceived Elise their final year of college and her dad had declared her dead to him.

Lucy could clearly recall the mournful expression on her mother’s face the morning she’d announced she and Adam were expecting and planned to marry. It was as though mom had feared her only daughter would wind up in the same rock and hard place she had. With her staunch Catholic upbringing and tyrannical husband, divorce had never been an option for Dora Rose. Lucy didn’t feel the same. Had Adam ever shown any of her father’s inclinations, she’d have divorced him in a heartbeat. He hadn’t. Maybe he hadn’t been the all consuming, wild and crazy love of a lifetime some woman longed for, but Adam was gentle and a good provider. And having Elise to fill her heart with love had shown Lucy what real family was, so much so that she’d even grown to not resent the fact contact with her mother had to be made through a neighbor.

She smiled a little as she thought of Colleen O’Leary. Already crippled with arthritis by her mid-thirties, the feisty Irish woman had still ruled her houseful of rambunctious boys, and her jovial husband, with an iron fist. Colleen had been such a good friend to her mother. Lucy was convinced if only mom had listened, Colleen might have eventually talked her into leaving her unhappy marriage and reclaiming a life of her own. By the time the O’Leary’s had moved in, complete with their menagerie of pets, and boys with noisy toys, Dora had been too downtrodden to listen to anyone but her husband.

Maybe if she’d come in person and insisted her mother move in with she and Adam when her father first fell ill? No. She’d had no intention of ever returning to this house. Until the accident. The loss of everything she’d held dear had driven her back. Again she closed her eyes, but it only served to bring Adam and Elise into sharper focus. And to sharpen the knife that had pierced her heart and soul fourteen long months ago.

She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be anywhere.

Lucy wiped her eyes on the ever-present tissue clutched in her fist and walked out the glass doors onto the patio. She’d loved the patio as a child. Surrounded with vines that drooped color and nose-tingling scents, she’d spent many enjoyable afternoons snuggling on the swing and listening to the O’Leary’s play basketball next door. Three blue-eyed devils raised in a house the same as the one she’d grown up in-yet so different. She’d often wondered what it would be like to have siblings, instead of being the sole recipient of her father’s unwanted attention. No, best that her parents had never had another child.

She lowered herself into the rusted two-seater swing. It groaned but held. Her exhausted body settled into the familiar comfort. When stains of a Bon Jovi tune, and the distinctive thump of a basketball reached her ears, for a second her heart fluttered like it had when she’d spied through the fence to watch black-haired brothers battle it out on their backyard court, then a fractured sob tore from her throat. She wanted to go back. God, how she wanted it. But not that far.

Curling into the swing, Lucy braced her head in her arms and sobbed. She should have taken Elise to that early morning hockey practice. If there was a journey to be made, she should have gone, too.

The ball next door quit thumping and Lucy heard the murmur of conversation. She strained to listen, curious about who had taken up residence in the O’Leary’s love and laughter filled home.

The doorbell jangled and Lucy wiped her streaming eyes, and sprang from the swing. She swung open the door to a black haired waif who looked around seven, Elise’s age. Except Elise no longer had an age. Lucy’s eyes flooded anew and the child appeared to be floating underwater as she stepped into the front hall.

“Don’t cry. I’m sorry I took your berries, but look, we made tarts.”

Again Lucy wiped her eyes and accepted the plate the child offered. Hiccupping back a fresh sob, she eyed lopsided and overly brown tarts. “How lovely. Did you make these yourself?”

“I had a bit of help. But I did most of it,” she hurried to add. “You’re not crying because I stole your raspberries, are you?”

Throat tight with stifled tears, Lucy settled for shaking her head.

“I cried a lot too, when I first moved here, but Granny was right, this is a happy neighborhood. Soon you won’t cry as much.”

Hmm, whoever this child is, her Granny must have lived on a sunnier side of the street than I ever did. She kept silent, unwilling to afflict such a cheerful little girl with the negative thoughts she just couldn’t seem to shake lately.  Didn’t time heal all wounds? Why did hers keep tearing open? Maybe finally closing the door on her unhappy childhood would help her close the door on her current unhappiness. At this point, she’d try anything.

A shadow fell across the door and Lucy jerked her gaze upward. It came to rest on a sturdy, black haired man who could only be an O’Leary.

He focused on the child. “I said deliver and return, Shannon.”

She hung her head. “Sorry, but…”

“No buts. Bowser needs his dinner and you have math.”

The girl edged toward the door. “Yes, sir.”

He watched her leap down the stairs, finally turning back to Lucy. “I apologize. She’s a bit forward, particularly with women. I…”

Cutting himself short, he met her gaze and a slow smile spread across his face. “I recognize you. You’ve no idea how many fantasies I spun about the shy, pretty girl next door. Welcome home, Lucy.”

Home? Lucy shivered as he grasped her chilly fingers in a warm grip. He’d fantasized about her? Ironic after the many hours she’d spent dreaming the O’Leary’s would invite her to live with them because they didn’t have a daughter of their own, or that some day she’d marry one of the laughing young men and be embraced by the family.  “I…”

“Mick,” he supplied, still not releasing her hand. “Or the monkey in the middle, as they used to call me. I just lit the grill. Why don’t you come over for a burger and we’ll catch up?”

Suddenly desperate to escape the bubble of grief she’d been isolated in, Lucy nodded. “I’d like that, if it’s okay with your wife.”

“Don’t have one.” He led her to the house next door, cringing a little when he swung open the front door and they had to maneuver around a backpack, half dozen pairs of brightly colored sneakers, and a glittering pink skateboard. “Which is why my house looks this way. Let’s go outside.”

Over beer, burgers, and banter, Lucy relaxed, surprised at the foreign sound of laughter. There’s and her own. She’d always wanted to know how it felt to be involved with a family who could laugh-even while they argued. Now she knew. Even without his parents and boisterous brothers, Mick O’Leary was an entertaining force, and the lively Shannon had inherited all the O’Leary charm and then some. And it was every bit as wonderful to be included in the laughter as she’d suspected.

Mick and Shannon had jokingly bickered about housework, the basketball game they’d played earlier, and even about who had to get up first the next morning to let the dog out. He’d talked about how much he loved living back in the old neighborhood, how he enjoyed his work as a veterinarian, and it was obvious he doted on the little girl who was a miniature blue-eyed version of him. Aside from whatever had estranged Mick from Shannon’s mother, he seemed to live a completely charmed life of love and laughter.

If she had an exuberant man like Mick O’Leary in her life, would the sun that shone from him clear a little of the dark cloud that had followed her far too long? Lucy shook off the completely unexpected thought, surprised it had even entered her head.

After they’d eaten, Mick stacked plates. “You know the routine, kid. You’re dish detail.”

Lucy smiled as Shannon leaped to do his bidding. “Your daughter is wonderful.”

He looked surprised. “Daughter? Oh, um, Shannon is my niece.” Grief momentarily dulled the blue brilliance of his eyes. “She was orphaned about fourteen months ago. A long haul driver, drunk at dawn. Wiped out her parents and another family. Dad passed away a few years ago. Mom is in a retirement home better equipped to handle the way arthritis has handicapped her than we ever could have made this old place. My older brother and his wife are in the service, a bit too unsettled for soothing an orphaned girl. That left me, the seriously single and least likely to grow up, having to dive into single parenthood.” He shrugged. “And I seriously love it. Lucy? Are you all right?”

She gasped as the sunny yard revolved, and he leaned to clasp her suddenly icy hands in a warm grip. Wrapped in grief, she hadn’t connected the names of the other victims.  They’d both lost loved ones that terrible day.  ”My family.”

Without warning he gathered her in his arms. “You were meant to come home, Lucy.”

She clung to his solid warmth and for the first time in years-maybe ever-she felt as though she really had come home.

The End

Learn more about Lainey Bancroft at her SHOWCASE PAGE.