Romantic Short Stories

7 FREE Romantic Short Stories - Free to Read Blog

2018-03-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

Romantic Fiction - Hallmark-Style - Short Stories - Love -

Free to Read Now or Bookmark for Later

Click on a title to read any of the short stories.

Callan had only one more Internet Match to satisfy her mom's pleading. Thank goodness it would be over, but why was there no match? What was wrong with her? The four men she met seemed bored with her, uninterested, and did not even say anything other than goodnight. Thankfully only one more to go.

Detectives - Ghosts - Romance

Being female in a brawny male career field isn't easy, especially when you are not only female but also little and considered cute. Alley struggles with this in the male-dominated private detective industry. Other private eyes are either lusting after her, not adverse to making overt suggestions, or trying to undermine her investigations.

Her Ex Lover Comes Home

It's been six years since Justin broke Shaye's heart. Now he is home, a war hero. Will seeing him again bring back Emma's heartache?

Where Has He Seen Her Before

For the first time since his wife died, David is attracted to another woman. It isn't just the sexy jeans and shoulder-length auburn hair that attracts him. It's something about her eyes. He has looked into them before but where? Why are they so hauntingly familiar?

A Little More Romance
Read in under an hour

From Lust to Love in Chicago

Ellen returns to Chicago after 24 years and runs into Jack Logan, a guy she lusted for but never met. She connects with him in a museum and thinks maybe there is a chance for romance until she reads of a possible engagement between him and Mindy. He assures her there isn't. They begin a relationship and suddenly she receives threatening phone calls. Are they from Mindy? Is Ellen frightened enough to stop dating Jack?

A Romantic Cruise With Deception

Harry and Meg become Internet friends and decide to meet on a weekend cruise to the Bahamas. They think perhaps the friendship can become more but each has a secret they need to reveal. Will it bar any chance for romance? Come along to Freeport and Nassau as they pursue romance and find the perfect time to reveal their secrets?

A Never Forgotten Lover Returns

It has been 44 years since Megan has seen Robert, the father of her son. He is in the church at her Granddaughter's wedding and will be at the reception. Megan fears he will reveal the secret she has kept from her son all these years. Why and how did she keep the secret? Why had she not married Robert? How will she react when she sees him again?

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3 FREELove Gone Wrong Short Stories

2018-03-20T15:15:00.000-07:00

Free short stories Love - Betrayal - Murder - Abuse

3 Love Gone Wrong Short Stories
Click any title to read FREE.

I Will Love Again

Heartbreak took away her desire for romance. She didn't want the pain. A near death experience told her she will love again.

Killing Mr. Perfect!

I loved his embraces. Sometimes his kisses were magical. There were times when his smile and wink from across the room made me want to rush home. There were days of absolute bliss but soon ended with gut-wrenching pain. Scott was the ideal man of every woman's dream. Ruggedly handsome with a suave, gentleman's flair.

A Rumor and the Truth

It was the second Sunday in a row I didn't go to church. When Pete and our boys left, I felt guilty about not going. It was a ritual; church then Bailey's for Brunch every Sunday since the twins were two, going on nine in March. I sipped from the cooling mug of coffee staring out the window, trying to fight the guilt of lying to Pete.

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An Internet Match-Up Romance

2018-03-20T07:58:00.001-07:00

Romantic Fiction - Internate dating - romance -

“Am I a dork?" I ask my friend Kelly.

"Good heavens no, Callan. You are anything but a dork. Not with that flaming red hair and those emerald green eyes. My Mom swears you are a replica of Brenda Star from her comic book days.

Kelley is my best friend, my only unmarried close friend. She is dating again after a long relationship ended. We are shopping for shoes. Kelley is trying on a pair of stiletto sandals, grimacing as she tugs the ankle straps into the right places.

"If I'm not a dork, am I really boring?" I watch her carefully stand.

"It's that match up online date you had last night, right?" She reaches for my hand to steady her.

I nod, grimly remembering how painful it was. Mentally painful that is.

"Was he another loser?".

"I hate to call him a loser." I watch her wobble along the narrow aisle.

"You're too nice Callan. You got to call a spade a spade and a loser a loser."

Sitting down, she unlaces the sandals, puts them in the box, shrugs her shoulders and suggests we go to Ike's for Pizza.

Waiting for our order, I reluctantly tell her about my latest match-up date. "He wasn't bad looking, kind of average, but he was so out of touch with reality. I tried making conversation with him. I asked about his work. He said 'work is work'. I mean he never initiated conversation. He replied to my questions with short monotone answers. Kelley, he seemed bored out of his mind."

Mitzy places the steaming hot pizza on the table." Here's Ike's finest for his two best customers. He said to tell you 'Bon appetite'.

Swallowing a bite of pizza, Kelly touches the checkered napkin to her mouth, takes a sip of beer and shrugs. "Callan, this is the fourth date with that Internet match-up place that didn't work out. I hate to say this, but did you ever think it might be you being too fussy?"

"No, it's me being stupid," I say it loudly; suddenly aware people are looking at me. Speaking softly, I continue. "Letting Mom talk me into going on the Internet to find a man is dumb." I pause, remembering Mom telling me how two of her best friend's daughters found good guys using it. "I signed up to get her to stop bugging me."

Kelley sprinkles grated cheese on her slice of pizza."Maybe you should have signed her up instead of you".

"She's doing fine on her own." It makes me feel even more of a boring dork knowing how many eligible men she has dated since she and Dad divorced. "I promised her I'd try five, and that is my limit. One should have been enough."

Kelley sighs, finishing the last of her beer and asks if I want to go to a movie. Her boyfriend is bowling with the guys, and she is free to spend time with me.

For the next two days, I ignore the match-up website, not wanting to face another failed date, determined to be content without a man in my life. I made it to 28, with only one serious relationship, unfortunately, that failure kept me from trying. I didn't want to be hurt like that again. Why did I give into Mom?

Looking back on the fiasco, I remember my unease after submitting the application online two months before. Since it was local, I was asked to come into the office for an interview and professional video shots. Mom assured me it was all above board. Several of her friends, both male, and female, as well as her friend's adult children, had done it, she reminded me. "Sweetheart," she smiled, "If I needed it, I'd do it myself."

Thanks, Mom, thanks a lot for reminding me that I can't get a date on my own.

The 'Match For life' office was on the 5th floor of a building in downtown Tampa. Looking through the glass doors at a reception area, I saw Jessica Taylor, a former classmate. She greeted me warmly and we easily chatted for a few minutes, bringing each other up to date on our lives. She was married with two kids; me, I am single, living in a small apartment. As we chatted, an older looking man comes out of a room, smiles at us and quickly exits.

"That is faculty members of one of our Middle Schools," she shares. "Divorced about a year ago. He's not bad looking. Who knows Callan, maybe he will be the one for you."

I felt that all of Tampa would know I am single once I started the online dating route. I almost backed out.

"I think it's okay to go in. Len's been anxious to see you."

"Len?"

"Len Maxwell. You remember him from high school. Oh, maybe not. He was a dork back then, glasses, nerdy like slicked back hair. Wait till you see him now."

Trying to remember him, I am shaking my head when the door opens. "Callan, come in. We are all set up for the interview and video shoot." Mr. Drop dead handsome, blue-eyed, gym workout body, with a dazzling smile, motions me into the office. I turn to Jessica, mouthing, Len? She nods and grins.

The interview is routine, except for my throbbing heart. Sitting across from Mr. Good Looks with a fantastic smile, which he gives me now and then when he looks from the computer screen to me. I tried to remember him from high school. Nothing. Fortunately, he didn't bring it up.

"Advertising and PR with a local talk radio station. I see you got your degree at FSU. Mine was in Computer Science at UF." He looks at me briefly then back to the computer.

"I hope to go to an arch rival school isn't a problem." I am only half serious, anxious to see that smile.

He doesn't respond, just grins. A tantalizing grin I must add. Scrolling down the screen, he clicks a few keys and looks at me. "I think we have enough on your application to make a good dating profile. Let's go into the studio and let Bart take a casual video of you talking about your likes and dislikes."

We stand; he leads me to a side door. "The questions are the usual, what type of person you most enjoy being with. Basic things like that,"

Going into an adjoining room, I knew he was exactly the type of person I would want to be with. I was pretty sure he was either married or close to it. No one that good looking was still single. He introduces me to Bart and leaves.

That was it. I didn't see him again, much to my disappointment. Tampa is not what you would call a big city, but neither is it a small town. You would have thought I'd bump into him somewhere, but I didn't. I might have called Jessica if I could remember her married name. I know, I could have called the office on some pretense, but I didn't. If I were to see him again, I would, and if not, well I could dream couldn't I?

After thinking about the interview with Len Maxwell, I decided to go back online, get the fifth and final date over with, and cancel my availability. Going to the website, I pull up my profile. There is only one possible matchup for me listed. Guess Len couldn't find any guys interested in my profile. There isn't much to read about the guy on the screen. He is a systems programmer for an International Investment company. The picture of #5 isn't too bad, although it looks a little photoshopped. Get it over with, I tell myself. Get out of this unpleasant program I let Mom talk me into.

Quickly I post where and when the best time to meet is for me. I suggest Ike's pizza, 7 PM, Tuesday evening. I figure early enough to get home for the prime time TV shows and a weeknight so I can use the early workday excuse.

I dress casually in black slimming slacks, a white tailored silk blouse and, black ballet flats.

Thankfully no one I know is at Ike's. There will be no gossip when this match-up doesn't work, as there had been with the other four. Looking around for a single male who looks like the PC image and seeing none, I let Mitzy show me to a table for two by the window.

Watching out the window for my potential date, I see Mr. drop-dead handsome Len Maxwell crossing the street from the parking garage. He is looking elegantly handsome in a Ralph Loren royal blue polo shirt over slender fit chinos. Perfect for a pizza night, casual but classic.

Inside he looks around, smiles at Mitzy and comes to the table.

"Oh, Oh. If the boss shows up, I guess that means my date backed out. That's not good." I smile as he pulls out a chair across from me.

"Not necessarily true." He takes a menu from Mitzy, glances at it, then looks up at me, a wide smile lighting up his eyes. "You like mushrooms on your pizza. I think that was somewhere in your profile.

Responding hesitatingly I agree that I like mushrooms and anchovies.

"I can do the mushrooms but anchovies will have to come on the side."

"Wine or beer?" He asks, handing the menu back to Mitzy.

"Beer is good." I nod at Mitzy as she backs away, her eyes intent on Len. He tells her he will also have a beer. She writes the order, barely taking her eyes off of him, then quickly leaves.

"I like the way you let your hair fall naturally rather than pulled back on the video. It's the way you wore it in high school." He looks directly into my eyes. "You don't remember me do you?"

Embarrassed to admit it, I shake my head.

"We sat at the same table in science class, and we were in English together our junior and senior years."

Mitzy puts the beers on the table as my embarrassment increases. He is remembering details, while I have no memory of him at all. Sensing my unease, he pulls out his wallet, removes a picture and hands it to me.

"That's my Sr. class picture. I took it from Mom's album to bring it to you. Callan, I honestly didn't expect you to remember me. Hardly anyone does. I was shy, especially around any of the popular girls."

Looking at the picture of an obviously studious, serious young man wearing thick gold-rimmed glasses, I can't believe it is the same person sitting across from me. Glancing up from the picture at Len, I remember the eyes, not smiling as they are across from me at Ike's, but the same color, deep cobalt blue, this time without glasses

"Ah, your memory is coming back." He grins, taking the photo and putting it back into his wallet. Mitz places the pizza in the center of the table, staring down at him until she realizes what she is doing. She quickly scoots away.

"I had a terrific crush on you in our last two years at Hillsboro High." Toasting me with his glass, he adds, "I was hoping you'd go to UF instead of State. I was depressed over your decision."

"You never said anything." I stammer, not believing this was the same person from high school

"I was shy. Remember? You were popular. Even talking to you about Shakespeare and math was a monumental task."

Suddenly I am the shy one. Unable to think of anything to say that would make me feel better about not remembering him, I skip to the present.

"So, what happened to my date for this evening? Did he just back out or did something come up that he couldn't make it?"

Looking at me sheepishly, he leans back in his chair. "There was no date. When Bart, he's the owner of the Internet site, not the camera guy, told me you had applied, I asked him to let me be the one to interview you when you came in."

"You don't work for Perfect Match Site?"

"No, but I am into Computers. I own several large PC stores along the East Coast. We have just moved into the Midwest and are expanding into the Southeast, including Tampa."

I am surprised when he mentions the name of his company, "I applied for a job with them."

"I know. I was going over some of the company applications last year and saw yours. I was hoping you wouldn't get hired."

"You didn't want me to get hired?"

"It was all wrong for you, Callan. It was an office job,"

"You have no way of knowing what is right or wrong for me."

"Callan, I didn't want you to get the job because it was a desk job. You'd be in an office instead of being a news reporter for one of Tampa's leading radio stations. I know you will be moving into TV news broadcasting. That's where you belong."

"You kept me from getting the job?"

"No, I didn't do anything to keep you from getting it. Human Resources makes those decisions. I have a rule not to interfere unless I have to."

The anger beginning to surge inside me calms slightly. I finish the last of the beer. "I'm glad you didn't cause me not to get the job. You were right, if I had, I wouldn't be doing what I love. And I'm glad that you aren't manipulative."

"I didn't have anything to do with you not getting the job, but I'm afraid I have not been quite honest with you." He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "I have been manipulative."

Pulling my hand back, I stare at him without saying a word.

"I selected the dates for you."

"You selected the dates for me?"

"Yes, and I made sure they were guys who wouldn't be right for you. As a matter of fact, and I hate to admit this, two of them are my friends who agreed to not be good dates."

"I don't believe you. How could you do that to me?"

"It was wrong for me to do what I did. At the time it seemed the best way to get you to go out with me. I'm still a bit of that shy high school teen. I wasn't sure if you'd want to go out with me. This way, arranging tonight, you had no choice."

"It seems like a lot of trouble to get a date. You could have called me."

"I know, I know, but I didn't want to take the chance you'd say no. And I'm still not sure if I ask that you will say yes."

He may not be sure, but there is no doubt in my mind what I will say when he asks. Looking into his dazzling eyes, I know there will be no more Internet dating for me.

The End

My various Blogs: - Click any to go to the Blog

Romantic Short Stories

Aging Easy

Cruise and Tour Free

Life After Death

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Published Ezine Articles

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My Amazon books
Click any book to read the details!

Older Friends With Privileges

2018-03-14T13:39:00.000-07:00

Romantic Fiction - Senior Romance - Love - Ageless Romance

There are things our adult children do not want to know about us. They may speculate, surmise, or guess about something, but they don't want to hear it from us, especially our sex life, married or single. I happen to be single, divorced, not in a romantic relationship and enjoying sex.

My daughter Karen had to know something was going on between Bruce and me. She stopped by early one morning when we were having breakfast in my kitchen. Bruce cooks fabulous perfectly over-easy eggs and fluffy pancakes drizzled with warm syrup, and his coffee making skills are perfect. He brought me a cup earlier in bed. Great way to start my day.

We were finishing breakfast when Karen came sailing through the back door, plopped her gigantic tote bag on the Island, and without looking our way, poured a cup of coffee.

"Mom. Can you pick up the kids after school?" She turned and spewed coffee. Coughing and swiping her coffee dotted blouse, she sputtered. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company." She slammed down the cup, shuffled the tote to her shoulder, gave a very weak smile and left without saying a word to Bruce, someone she's known since she was 10.

Bruce grinned that crazy lopsided smile he has. "I think she was a bit shocked to see me in boxers and t-shirt."

I gave him a Tom Selleck loud sigh. "I guess I'll be hearing about it later."

"Can you handle it?" The grin changed to concern creeping into his now serious eyes.

I nodded. "I guess I should have told her but there never seemed to be the right time. The kids are always around when we're together, and you know the old saying about little ears."

His gentle smile told me he understood.

"I mean, it's not like we're in a romantic relationship or anything." I started clearing the table.

"Young people call it 'friends with privileges." He took the plates from my hands, put them in the sink, turned me towards him and asked. "What do you call it?" That serious look deepened.

I walked back to the table, picked up the serving dishes, walked away from him around the other side of the island. "Why do we have to call it anything?" I turned on the faucet, started rinsing the plates. "Relationships require commitment. You and I had disastrous relationships with others after becoming single. You with Gloria, me with Todd." I realized I was slamming the dishes into the dishwasher.

"We need to talk about this later. I've got a scheduled tee time that I can't change." He walked towards the bedroom alcove. "It's a commitment."

I finished the dishes, cleared the crumbs off the table and went back to the sink. Standing behind me, he whispered, "I'll call you this evening. I hope things go okay with Karen." He ruffled my hair and left.

I spent the rest of the morning doing usual household routines and worked on what I would tell Karen. Later, I learned it wasn't the only thing I had to tell her. A call in the afternoon from my primary care Dr. revealed I had symptoms of a serious illness. Tests were being set up.

/////////////

Karen didn't call. She texted me a neighbor was picking up the kids and taking them to her house. I guessed she wanted to avoid talking about what happened that morning. Yep, there are just some things adult kids would rather not know.

Bruce called twice and left a message to call him back. I didn't. I was busy on the Internet googling Lupus, auto-immune disease, symptoms, natural healing, medical procedures and joined an online support group for victims of the disease. I learned it could be treated but not cured.

About ten, when I was pouring my 2d glass of wine, the doorbell rang followed by a knock. It was Bruce. "We need to talk." He came in, walked to the kitchen, got a wine glass from an overhead cabinet and poured. Raising the bottle in a gesture to see if I wanted any, I nodded and let him top off my glass. Pointing towards the living room, he slipped his free hand on my back, guided me to the sofa, nodded for me to sit then sat in the recliner across from me.

"Did you talk to Karen?"

I shook my head, sipped the wine. Swallowing, I told him I had a busy day.

He looked pensive. "Monica, you know I care about you. I have since before our divorces, disastrous relationships, and all the ups and downs we both had these last 10 years."

"Has it been that long since Greg and I divorced?" It was hard to believe.

"Monica, I'm not comfortable with our situation." He put the glass on a side table, stood, paced a few moments then sat next to me. "We go to dinner, come back here, make love, and have breakfast. That's it. I want more."

"More?" I think I gasped.

"I don't mean live together, at least not yet." He took the glass from me, placed it on the coffee table. "I want a relationship with a commitment. I guess they say 'exclusive'. We just date each other and..." He paused.

"And?"

"I want a loving, caring relationship, not just friends with privileges."

My mind stumbled over what he was saying and what I learned about Lupus. "I can't, Bruce. Not now. I'm sorry."

"Funny, I thought you were starting to feel the same way. I guess I was wrong."

"I have feelings for you, Bruce. I really do. I'm just not ready for a relationship."

"Are you seeing someone else?" He stood abruptly. "Monica, are you sleeping with someone else?"

I was stunned. "No. How could you think that?"

"I'm sorry, but why else do you not want a commitment?"

He suddenly pulled me into his arms. "I'm in love with you." Looking down at me he grinned. "Sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen."

His grin turned a somber mood lighter. I loved his smile. I loved his arms around me. I realized I loved him. "I love you too, but I need time to work a few things out before I commit to anything."

He held me for a long time. "Take however much time you need. I'm not going anywhere, except home...tonight or after breakfast?" He slightly released me, the questioning look was teasing and sexy.

I remembered reading Lupus is not a fatal disease. With clinical help, it can remain mild. Besides, until the tests were run, I wasn't sure I had it. There was still the problem of telling Karen. The problems slipped away as his fingers slipped down my back.

"Do I get bacon with the eggs in the morning?" I murmured.

His kiss told me I could have anything I wanted and right then I wanted him.

The End

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Free Book 'Lovers Through the Ages'-A Regency Romance

2018-02-28T10:14:00.002-08:00

Lovers Through the Ages

A Mary McCauley Romance

Can romance continue through time, through ages, through eras? Do soul mates find each other in different lifetimes?

A non-believing writer is a channel for a spirit with a story to tell. As the entity relates past life experiences of love through the ages, we see glimpses of waltzing in Prague, romancing in Paris, and touches between lifetimes.
The glamour of the London Season and the healing resort of Bath tie it all together for the writer who firmly does not believe in soul mates or past lives.

Why did the entity choose her to tell this romance of love through the ages? Does the writer change her mind about soul mates?
Pre-publication copy available via email or pdf format.

Click here for email attachment or pdf link

Sex Isn't Everything,Is It?

2018-02-15T08:42:00.003-08:00

Why do friends like Kelly keep asking me how long it's been since I had a date or more intimately since I've had sex?
Kelly knows how long it's been. She was the first one I hysterically called when I walked in on my almost-fiance Todd doing a bedroom down and dirty rumble on my couch. It was a day I went home early from work because Kelly convinced me Todd was going to pop the question that night at dinner and I wanted to look my best. She had seen him in a jewelry store earlier that week. Turns out it was the sales gal from the store he was with when I walked in on them going at it.

Even my best male friend, Craig nudges me every now and then about getting back into the dating world. “You weren't born to be a nun,” he chided me. “You know, none in the morning and none at night.” I nearly dropped him as a great friend but he is a fantastic cook and he tantalizes me with his latest culinary feats. I am his gourmet guinea pig.

I don't need reminders of no romance in my life, I have them all around me. I work for a publisher creating book covers, most often for their hot and steamy romance line. I either have to read the book or at least the tease for it so I can create hot, bodice-ripping, half-naked muscular guy covers. Most of the covers require me to look through male photos, frequently very raunchy male photos.

Yeah, I admit, sometimes it gets me longing for a little erotica in my life, but I vowed no more sex just to have sex. Not always easy to stick with the vow especially when Craig not only cooks a romantic dinner but brings a romantic movie we watch sipping wine. I've come close to throwing myself at him, but I remember the vow and after all, it's Craig, my best bud since college. We've been through each other's failed romances several times and know enough intimate details to stop ourselves from groping each other. It's too easy to imagine him doing it with Shelly or Cadence or any of the other romances he's had in ten years of our friendship.

I was thinking all this driving home after Kelly and I had dinner tonight. Yes, she asked me again, then told me about a new guy at her office I might find interesting. I didn't give her an argument, just told her maybe. That's when she brought up my male, sexless life. That's when I said I am tired and need to go home. Fortunately, we had finished the chocolate dessert we shared.

I wasn't tired and decided to stop for a nightcap at a local bar and grill near my neighborhood. Selene and Toby, the owners are good friends and always nice company if they aren't too busy.

Toby was behind the bar. I guessed Selene was closing the kitchen. There were only a few regular couples sitting at tables watching a late night talk show on the giant TV screen behind the bar. I waved at them slipping up on a bar stool and nodding at Toby for my usual Scotch-rocks nightcap.

Setting my knock-off Gucci purse on a stool between me and a guy sipping a beer, I looked in the bar mirror and nearly gasped, almost falling off the stool. Looking back at me with a bit of a grin was one of those drop-dead handsome muscular sexy guys from the cover photos. Seriously, the real thing, not a look alike.

"Hey Gail, been awhile since you've been in for a nightcap." Toby placed the drink on a coaster. "Selene's in the back. You want a sandwich or something?"

I shook my head, fumbling, picked up the glass, forcing myself not to look at those, umm eyes, yes his eyes, not the broad shoulders or obviously rippling muscles, or were they visions in my mind from his half-naked photos.

"Gail!" It was Toby again, this time nodding at Mr photo of the year. "Do you know Grant?"

Do I know him, flashed through my mind? I shook my head, giving a weak smile in the mirror noticing the cocoa brown eyes and the broad smile.

"Grant Jeffers." He reached out his hand.

Okay, I know you are expecting me to write that my whole body tingled as our hands touched. Well, it did, like lightning soaring in every molecule from my hair to the tips of my toes. Fortunately, I stifled a gasp and a shudder. At least I think I did.

Toby interacted. "Grant, this is Gail Clarke. We've been neighbors here since Selene and I opened 3 years ago." Looking at me he added. "Grant just moved in last week."

"Welcome." A loss for words rarely happened to me.

"Thanks. I got reassigned here from Chicago. Seems like a nice place."

"A bit smaller than Chicago but we have lots to offer," I was getting more at ease. Not sure if it was the Scotch, a double if I knew Toby, or that Grant seemed less intimidating looking at him without the half-naked photo image.

"Tell me more." He raised the empty beer bottle towards Toby, pointed at my glass, I nodded, wanting to prolong the conversation and am glad I did.

Grant seemed interested in my verbal city tour, asking direct questions about some of the historical sites, something our town is known for and brings tourists.

"How about best places to take a date for dinner?"

I mentioned a few of my favorites hoping it was leading to him asking me to join him at one of them. It didn't. He did ask if he could walk me home.

"Thanks, I have my car."

"You okay to drive?" Toby asked, obviously listening to our chatter.

"I'm good, thanks, Toby." He hadn't doubled my second drink.

Grant stood as I picked up my purse. He was tall, I mean tall. Well, I'm only 5'2" so anyone around 6 feet is tall to me. Tall, built, sexy and easy to talk to. What more could I want except for him to ask for my phone number? He didn't but he did whisper, "I'll see you soon," walked me to my car, kissed me lightly on the cheek, and opened my car door. I hoped so. I for sure hoped so.

Testing my how to write a little sexy waters

Valentine's Day- Romantic Story Stats

2018-02-11T12:35:00.000-08:00

With Valentine's Day coming, I thought I'd look at the view stats for my 26 Romantic Short Stories checking what gets views. Interesting how titles bring viewers. Total views for the Blog - are 9945--

Click on any title to read!

Never Too Old For Romance - 250

Writing Hot-Steamy Romance - 251

A Rumor and the Truth - 245

A Romantic Cruise With Deception - 186

Online Dating - Romance or Disaster? 126

The most viewed is

11 Romantic Short Stories - Free to Read Blog - 605

Followed By -

3 Hallmark Style Romances - 381

3 Hallmark-Style Romantic Short Stories

2017-11-05T11:46:00.000-08:00

Romance - Short Stories - Hallmark-Style - Love -

Welcome to 3 in 1. Click on any title to read the romantic story now or bookmark for later. Enjoy. Feel free to share the link.

Detectives, Ghosts, and Romance

Being female in a brawny male career field isn't easy. Especially when you are not only female but also little and considered cute. This is what Alley faces daily in the male-dominated private detective industry. That, and seeing Pete Hayes, fellow detective and former lover.

Finding My Perfect Match Online

Callan had only had one more Internet Match date to satisfy her mom's pleading. Thank goodness it would be over but why was there no match? What was wrong with her? The four men she met seemed bored with her, uninterested and said almost nothing other than goodnight. Thankfully only one more to go, she could quit and reluctantly tell the handsome CEO of the website goodbye.

When Her Ex-Lover Comes Home

It's been six years since Justin broke Shaye's heart. Now he is back home, a war hero. Will seeing him again bring back her heartache? She is about to find out when he comes to Rosie's Bar.

Amazon Books by Mary McCauley
aka
M. Bradley McCauley

When Her Ex-Lover Comes Home

2017-11-05T10:38:00.000-08:00

When Her Ex-Lover Comes Home

Damn! I'm not in Mom's house two minutes putting away the groceries she asked me to pick up when she rushes into the kitchen gushing.

“Shaye, did you hear? Justin Tracy is back in town."

"Yes mom, I heard and I heard and I heard. At least four people called to tell me he is back."

"Aren't you excited?"

"No! Should I be?"

"You were in love with him once."Mom takes the cereal box from my hand, putting it in a cabinet over the sink. "I think you never got over him." She turns, giving me one of her, 'don't tell me otherwise' looks.

"I have to go Mom. I have a date." It is a half-truth. I do have to go but I don't have a date.

"With that guy from work you went out with last week?"

"Yes!" I lie.

"When do I get to meet him?"

"Soon!" I call, rushing out the back door. I hurry to the driveway feeling guilty about the 'date' I made up. There is no guy at work. I manufactured him so she would stop nagging me about finding someone, settling down and giving her grandkids.

Slamming the car door, I pull out my cell and call my best friend, Marcy.

"Can you meet me at Rosie's? I need company."

Rosie's is a bar where people from the neighborhood hang out. It has an old-fashioned jukebox filled with songs from the 60's. There are two pool tables, a horseshoe bar, a few tables, and booths. Back in the 60's it had been a cafe style restaurant. Now it is a bar with neon beer signs, giant TVs with muted sport's channels and Rosie's big welcoming smile. Marcy and I have been coming to Rosie's since we were old enough to legally drink.

"Okay, Shaye, I figure you heard Justin is back." Marcy tosses her Vera Bradley bag on the bar, slipping onto the stool next to me. You okay with it?"

"I'm going to be fine. No! I am fine, not going to be. I'm good. He has no effect on me what-so-ever."

"Sure!Come on Shaye, it's me, Marcy. You can't-fool me."

"You gals doing okay?" Rosie asks placing a nearly full glass of Chardonnay on the bar for me. Her arched eyebrows tell me she also knows Justin is back.

"Just fine, Rosie. Thanks." Marcy stirs her gin and tonic with a swizzle stick before taking a sip.

I am not fine. I know it, Marcy knows it and Rosie knows it. The whole damn bar probably knows it. There is no way I will admit it or talk about it. I don't want Justin Tracy back in town. I have a good life without him. I barely think of him anymore. Now I am lying to myself.

"So what are you going to do when you see him?" Marcy asks, shaking her glass, rattling the ice.

"Say hello.”

"That's it! After how he hurt you?”

“Marcy, it was 6 years ago. He made his choice and it wasn't me. I'm over it."

Kate motions to Rosie for another drink and points to my wine glass. I shake my head.

"Like hell, you're over it. I was there to hold your hand and put my arms around you when the sobs wouldn't stop. I am the one who has watched you shy away from potential romance after romance because your heart still belongs to Justin Tracy."

She is right. Six years and I still feel the hurt. Why have I never let it go? What will I do when I see him?

"So my friend, what will you do when you see him?" she nudges me from my thoughts.

"I will be civil. I will say hello and smile."

"Well, you better get ready with that smile now because he just walked in the door." She nods her head towards the image in the wall mirror behind shelves filled with liquor bottles.

I stop a gasp from erupting. There he is, all six foot two of him, broad shoulders, blond brush cut, and that warm smile I missed all these years. I watch in the mirror as old friends go over to shake his hand or hug him. The room is filled with friends who know him from our high school days. He is the small town guy who became an American hero. The story of him saving lives in Afghanistan was on all the Network news shows. A near death injury during that time made him give up his dream of a military career. He resigned his commission.

"Hey Rosie, put a beer on my tab for Justin," Jake Malone yells.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see him, wishing I could slip out the door without being noticed.

"Uh, oh!" Marcy whispers. "He's coming over. Should I leave?"

"Good God no!" I hiss. "Don't you dare move.

"Marcy! Shaye!" Justin slips his arms around both our shoulders like old times.

I stiffen, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"Good to see you both again. Everything going okay?" So Mr. Cool, acting as if he saw us yesterday instead of six years ago. Taking the beer Rosie hands him, he raises the bottle, a toast to her. "Rosie, sweetheart, you don't know how good it is to see you still here being the grand hostess."

"Yeah, Yeah, I hear you." Rosie motions for him to come to the end of the bar where she gives him a hug.

I relax. Well, I don't quite relax but I stop cringing.

Justin stares at me in the mirror. I quickly look away. He drains the bottle, puts the empty on the bar, taps Marcy and me on the back, waves at his friends, calling out that it is good to be back. The door closes behind him. My breathing slowly comes back to normal.

"He is still handsome and as personable as ever." Marcy nudges me.

"I guess" I mumble taking the last sip of wine. I slip my purse strap on my shoulder. "I'm ready to go. How about you?"

Marcy grabs her bag from the stool and shakes her head. "No, I'm going to sit with Barb and Jay awhile. I hear Barb's brother is coming home next week. You know I felt something between us the last time he was here." She hugs me. I leave Rosie's and head for my car.

"Shaye!" It is Justin. "I've been waiting for you."

I stop walking, not turning to him. I don't want to see him, I don't want to talk to him, oh crap, I just want his arms around me, holding me, loving me. Damn it, Damn it, Damn it. I am furious at myself.

Putting his hands on my shoulders, he turns me around. "Can we talk?"

"Not now Justin. Call me some time. I need to get mom's prescription before Dudley closes his pharmacy. She's not feeling well." When had I become such a liar?

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"No." I hurry to my car, fumbling with my keys, my heart pounding. "Don't look back, don't look back," I repeat to myself, quickly driving away. If I look at him, even for a second, I might get out of the car. I know I can't do that. Not yet. Not ever.

For the next few days, I keep busy showing properties to prospective buyers. My real estate client list is growing. At night, setting up homes for sale on my website keeps me from thinking about Justin, at least from thinking about him too much.

I have an open house on Sunday at one of my more elegant listings. It is a slow day. Not many people have the kind of income to purchase the classic Victorian style home. It is a contemporary house that borrowed ideas from historic Victorian architecture. It is big, it is stately and it is expensive.

I try to find things to do between the few lookers who come by. That's all they are, lookers, people who want a glimpse into a style of living not common in our town. Most of those who drop by are old friends.

Late in the afternoon, I start closing down. There hadn't been anyone in two hours. Time to call the open house a closing house. As I am ready to walk out the door, Justin is standing there.

"Am I too late to see the house?"

Fighting the desire to either slam the door or rush into his arms, I turn, walking quickly back into the foyer.

"Are you a potential buyer or just a looker?" My voice quivers.

"Buyer. I'm home for good."

I don't want to hear that. I don't want to see him around town. Quickly handing him a brochure with the statistics, I begin my,'let me show you these wonderful features', routine. It is a beautiful home and showing it is always a pleasure. I take sincere potential buyers slowly through each room, describing the highlights. Not this time. I lead Justin through it quickly, speaking only when he asks something.

Standing on the terraced stone deck looking at the carefully designed landscape, he puts his hand on my shoulder. "Shaye, look at me."

Taking a deep breath, I turn and look into those enticing blue eyes. Memories of the times I saw his love for me in them flashes through my mind. Those memories are jolted by the thoughts of our break up.

As if reading my mind he says, "Shaye, our breakup was devastating. I could never understand why."

"Okay." I stammer, turning quickly, I lunge through the open French doors.

"Shaye! Stop! Why didn't you answer any of my phone calls?" He pulls me around. "As soon as I finished officers candidate school, I called you. I called again and again. You never answered and you never returned any of my texts. After months of trying to reach you, I quit. Then when I heard you were engaged to Rick Marson, I knew I wasn't going to get you back."

For a few moments, I thought I hadn't heard him correctly. "You heard I was what?"

"Marrying Rick."

"I never planned on marrying Rick. We dated off and on. It was never serious."

"I know that now but I didn't then. The main reason I never came back after Afghanistan was you. When Dad and Mom moved to AZ., there was no reason to come back, except you. When you didn't call, or answer my calls, I knew I blew it. I was sure you didn't love me anymore, and I didn't want to be here and see you with Rick."

"Why are you back now?"

"It's home. Even if Mom and Dad no longer live here, it's where I grew up. It has good memories. Mostly good memories of us."

I was mellowing. Not answering his calls after the breakup was the dumbest thing I ever did. We broke up because I didn't want to be an Army wife. He said serving his country was important to him. I hurt that it was more important to him than I.

"Shaye. I'm not in the military anymore. I have a good import business that I work on the Internet. I'm going to settle here for life." Taking my hands into his, he pulls me closer. "Is there any chance I can see you again? Can we go to dinner, or lunch, or coffee, or get a drink, or anything?"

Looking up into his eyes, seeing the love still there, I could never say no.

"I guess we can do something. Maybe dinner. We can talk more about you buying this house."

"Only if it's a house you think you might want to live in with me."

As he pulled me into his arms, I knew Mom was right when she said I was still in love with him. I hadn't fooled her or Marcy even if I tried to fool myself.

THE END

Last Train From New Orleans

2017-10-13T17:28:00.004-07:00

With smokestacks puffing gray steam, wheels laboriously turning an inch at a time, then picking up speed, the mournful whistle sounds echoing down the tracks, the last train from New Orleans pulled out of the station. Within minutes all lights inside the depot were diminished and I stood alone staring into the midnight blue.

Jeff wasn't on the train. Obviously, he had lied about coming home. I tried telling myself he had missed the last train from New Orleans, but I knew better. He wasn't coming. We wouldn't hear from him again, at least not until he needed something from his mother or me.

She would be heartbroken again. This has happened before. He calls her, promising that he is coming for good this time. Sometimes he made it home but never for good. Most of the time she would wire him money to come home and we wouldn't hear from him for months.

Jeff wasn't a kid. In his early forties, he was old enough to know right from wrong, good from bad and the pain he causes his mother, whom he swore he loved more than anything in this world, including me.

Yes, he was my only love. I can't remember ever not loving him. I think I fell in love with him in Kindergarten and in high school when he thought of me as his best friend, I continued to love him through all his dalliances and sometimes true romances. I was there to listen to him reveal more than I wanted to hear. But that is what next-door neighbors are for, to be best friends.

When Jeff went to Tulane, his mother and I eagerly anticipated his letters, few though they were. His visits home during extended holidays were joyous. He regaled us with amusing and sometimes fascinating stories about New Orleans and school activities. We sat wide-eyed and appropriately interested in every detail.

When the war came, the big one, and he enlisted, we were frightened, so fearful of harm coming to him or even death. Something we both refrained from ever expressing. His airmail letters from Europe were few and far between but filled with hope that he would come back to us soon.

"When I get back after this damned war, I'll never leave either of you again", he promised.

Those few words thrilled us and gave us hope he would come home. It was our combined dream. And home he came, after a brief stay in New York. He didn't come home alone. He brought a bride, a New Yorker who was the sister of one of his Army buddies. The buddy had been killed in action and Jeff went to see his family. A courtesy call, he told us and it was love at first sight when she opened the door.

The marriage lasted 11 months. She missed New York. A little Alabama town was not to her liking, at least that's what Jeff told us, but I think it was because she learned that Jeff was having an affair with one of the town's looser women. Magda was not exactly a woman of the evening, but she came damned close. She was known as easy.

After the divorce, Jeff took advantage of the GI Bill and went back to Tulane. Magda followed him and was back home within three months. His academic schedule left no time for her, she told everyone and we all pretended to believe her.

My life continued with no major changes. I worked for the local gas company, eventually ran the company when Jeff called. He knew his mother was getting on in years, that she could be gone in a matter of months, and he promised he would be home.

"Ask Alice to meet me at the train," he told her, I'm coming home for good this time."

I helped her get his room ready. We aired it out, bought new curtains, linens for the bed, and painted the desk. We were excited, even though I had doubts because of his previous actions. I am sure she did also. We never voiced them, just talked about when he was home. He could fix up the landscaping in the yard; paint the front porch and the garage. There were so many things needing a man's touch.

Early one morning, I heard the phone ringing next door, then a scream. I grabbed a robe, ran out the door and down the steps, tying the belt as I crossed onto their house. When I entered, she was standing by the phone table, the receiver still clutched in her hand. She didn't have to say a word. I knew by the tears welling in her eyes, slowly falling on her wrinkled cheeks that Jeff would finally be coming home for good.

I was with the hearse when they got his coffin off the last train from New Orleans.

The End!

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11 Romantic Short Stories Free to Read

Never Too Old for Romance!

2017-09-30T17:16:00.000-07:00

Oh lord, whatever made me think I could have romance at this age? I know I’m not quite over the hill, but the peak is right under my feet and sometimes I feel like I’m wearing skis and going for the downhill speed championship.

I know, I know, you’re never too old for romance but with these hip joints screaming for replacement and gravity pulling everything down, why would I even consider having a romance?

It all started a few weeks ago. I was at the local VA hospital doing my one-day a week volunteer duties taking the bookmobile around the wards when an attractive gentleman asked if I had any John Grisham books on the cart. He wasn’t a patient; he was visiting Mr. Harmon, a very nice elderly man in room 601, who I later learned had been Bill's commanding officer in Viet Nam.

Bill, that’s the guy who asked about the John Grisham books, the one I’m about to have the romance with. I’m not sure I’m going to have a romance with him, I mean it has been sort of leading in that direction, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had any of that in my life and of course, there is the problem of the hips.

Let me try to put this in order.

The following week Bill was again visiting Mr. Harmon and I had several Grisham books. Now how did that happen? Coincidence? I don’t think so. Anyway, we talked about his writing, Grisham’s, not Bill’s and before I knew it I was on break meeting Bill in the cafeteria. Well, you know how things go. One thing led to another; I gave him my phone number; he called and we went to dinner. Oh, let me tell you about that dinner. First, let me tell you about getting ready to go to that dinner.

What to wear? Oh, how I fretted over that. Pants suit? Dress? Suit? Skirt and fancy top? Something easy to get out of. Opps—sorry about that. Didn’t mean to jump ahead. What made me think of that at my age, and after all these years?

I went to the Mall. I hate the Mall. I hate shopping. That's probably why I didn't have anything in my closet I wanted to wear on a date. Combine going to a Mall shopping when it's not your favorite thing to do and you are no longer a size, never mind, you get the picture.

Back to what I was wearing. I didn't like anything in my closet, so I had to go to the Mall. First stop was a lingerie shop where I bought an outrageously expensive ‘lift em up’ bra. Come on, I’ve had a few kids, what they didn’t make happen gravity completed. I was going to go into Victoria’s Secret but have you seen the women who work there? I mean they make Calvin Klein perfume models look fat.

I stopped by the day spa for the works; manicure, pedicure; shampoo, style, blow dry, then headed to the cosmetic counter for a makeup session. This part was not fun. Really. The poor cosmetologist tried her best. She applied concealer, shadow, bronzed my cheeks, highlighted my cheekbones, and did everything possible to no avail.

At that point, I was not in the mood to continue shopping. I got home, soaked in lavender bath salts, with lavender scented candles and a glass of Cabernet creating a relaxing mood, hoping to calm my jangled nerves about dating again after all these years. Who am I kidding? What am I doing dating at this age? I’m a grandmother for heaven’s sake, soon to be a great-grandmother. Well, of course, I married young and had my first child barely out of my teens. That’s what we did back then---way back then. We got married then had kids.

Getting out of a tub, I wrapped a soft terry robe around me, looked in the mirror and realized the makeup really was not me. I removed it and decided to call Bill and cancel the date. But as I thought of him, picturing him in my mind's eye. Did I tell you that Bill is rather good looking? Quite handsome with gray, slightly curly hair, blue eyes, I mean baby blue eyes. I'm thinking he might look like an older Matt Damon.

He is a retired Army Colonel and has wonderful posture, which I"m guessing he got that at West Point. I didn’t call him to cancel the date. I ‘sucked it up’, as they say, and spent an hour selecting and discarding outfits. Everything in my closet was too old, too tight, too drab or too bright. Why hadn’t I bought anything new when I was at the mall? Finally, I decided on a black, A-line ankle length skirt, topping it with a cream long sleeved loose fitting over-blouse. I hated it, but I hated everything else more.

Looking in the floor length mirror hanging behind my bedroom door, I felt a huge surge of doubt. Maybe I should wear slacks. What if we are going to a casual place, maybe even a fast food restaurant or bar b-cue hut? I didn’t have a whole lot of time to change and then again, there was nothing I cared to change into.

Viewing myself in profile, sucking it up, the gut this time, I wondered if I should wear a girdle. I wondered if I had a girdle. Then I had a vision of an intimate romantic interlude being unromantic trying to tug off a girdle. Remember wriggling out of a girdle?

“Stop that,” I told myself. “You are not having a romantic interlude. You are having dinner, that’s it.” I know people have sex on first dates; I watched ‘Friends’ and ‘Sex in the City.” It isn’t like it was back in my day. Don’t you just hate it when older people say, ‘back in my day’? Even if people were having sex on a first date, they didn’t broadcast it except maybe to a best friend. The guys bragged to all their buddies.

The doorbell chimed. Panic began creeping like a vine snaking up a wall. I mentally said a few prayers, grabbed the black evening bag off the bed and took a deep breath telling myself, “it is only a date for gosh sake! Get hold of yourself! Just because it’s been a long, long time since you’ve had a date, you don’t need to panic.” Then I told myself to shut up, took a deep breath, and sauntered down the thickly carpeted steps.

I was pleased to see Bill was wearing a dark blue, very nicely tailored suit and not just because he looked so handsome. I breathed a little easier assuming we weren’t going to a bar b-cue shack or fast food place and I wouldn’t be overdressed.

He brought flowers, well a flower. It was a potted orchid, one of those plants that only the greenest of green thumbers have luck with, and of course you know me, pansies quiver when I near them; roses tighten their buds, and daisies shed their petals before I can get out the first “he loves me, he loves me not’.

I put the orchid on the coffee table. He waited a moment or two, picked it up and carried it to one of the windows, placed it on the narrow drop leaf table, smiled and said that particular orchid likes a certain amount of light.

Okay, I shrugged, thinking that window faces north and there’s a huge tree outside that blocks most of the daylight, but I didn’t say anything, just smiled and offered him a glass of wine.

He declined, saying we had just enough time to get to the restaurant for our reservation. I wondered if that was the real reason he declined or maybe he wanted something stronger? Maybe he was a recovering alcoholic and didn’t imbibe at all. Suddenly I was aware that I knew almost nothing about him. I was going out with a stranger, a tall, muscular stranger. I was going in his car! Maybe I should have arranged to meet him at the restaurant. Knowing the restaurant would have erased all my near panic attacks. I would have known what to wear.

How does one who hasn’t dated in years know these things? Why isn’t there a book out about re-entering the dating world? Maybe I will write one.

Driving to the restaurant, our conversation was light. He commented on what a nice evening it was. I agreed. He looked over at me and smiled as he asked if I had ordered the full moon. I shook my head.

I couldn’t believe it. I had spent almost two hours finding things of interest to talk about. I watched cable news stations; listened to some talk radio; went on the internet and ‘googled’ current events, world affairs, the weather, and at the moment I couldn’t think of one intelligent thing to say.

Finally, I asked him where we were going to dinner and was impressed when he named one of the finest and most
expensive restaurants in town.

“I hope you like French food.” He parked by the canopy on the circular drive. “I probably should have asked before I made the reservations.”

“Please Lord, let the menu be in English,” I silently prayed as a valet opened my car door.

Bill reached for my hand as we walked on the carpet leading to the elegant beveled glass doors. Oh, I was reading the signs. “Casanova’, a Vegas-style neon sign flashed across my inner vision as we entered the elegant
French restaurant! I was sure there would be excellent service and fine wine. Could this be leading up to one of those romantic, intimate interludes? Or, could it be leading to a one night stand, a bim-bam thank you ma'am night? Not with this gal, no way, or was there?

It was obvious Bill was no stranger to this most enticingly romantic setting. He was warmly greeted as we were ushered directly to a table for two near a flower and plant-decked garden. The waiter poured water into the crystal goblets asking Bill if he wanted his usual drink then asked him what the lady would have.

A questioning look from Bill. Then raised eyebrows when I ordered a Scotch on the rocks. I wanted a double but decided it could make me weaken in the romance arena, something it did in my midlife crisis after I became a widow.

"Scott, ask Todd to use Dewar's or Johnnie Walker, please."

"Certainly Mr. Carson."

The signs were getting bolder. Bill was very well known and catered to, a regular, perhaps a wealthy regular? I realized I didn't even know what he did other than was a retired Colonel.

"I should have asked if you have a preferred Scotch. I'm sorry."

"Either of those will be fine." I unfolded the linen napkin, laying it on my lap, then glancing at a music combo setting up on a small stage. "I see there will be music."

He turned, looking around then back to me. It's one of my favorites. They play the oldies, good for dancing. I hope you like to dance."

The drinks came. I picked up the menu. "Do you have a favorite entree? I assume you are familiar with the menu." Was I being caustic? I sipped the mellow Dewar's. It was a single malt I was savoring while looking into Bill's smiling sapphire blue eyes. Candlelight reflecting in them. I was mellowing.

He raised his glass, sipped and glanced at his menu. "If you like beef, I suggest the filet mignon or steak Diane. The chef's sauce is one of the best"

"Sounds perfect." I folded the menu, picked up my glass and made up my mind to enjoy the dinner and worry about later if there was to be a later.

Which I did. The steak Diane was divine. The Chateau Malbec Bordeaux wine even more divine. I was becoming more than mellow, finally relaxed.

Laying down his knife and fork, he looked serious for a moment. "You know I used to see you in the halls at the VA?" Pausing, sipping, then smiling. "I decided to ask you about Grishom to get your attention."

"You got it. But I don't know why I never saw you until that day."

"I think knowing my friend Hal was blind you avoided coming into his room. It was thoughtful of you. I noticed you in the hall when you passed the room, and saw you a few times in the cafeteria. I was determined to meet you."

It would be an understatement to say I was flattered. More flabbergasted than flattered. "I had no idea." I stammered.

Our plates were removed. Bill poured the last of the wine into our glasses. "Believe it or not, I am a bit shy around women."

No way. He seemed too suave and perfectly composed to be shy I was thinking as the music began playing an old tune I was trying to recall. He stood, reached out his hand for mine and led me to the small dance floor.

"One of my old time favorites,' he murmured, pulling me closer. "It Had to Be You. Do you remember it?"

I remembered. How could I forget? Alan and I danced to it at our wedding. Suddenly my eyes filled with tears. I pushed away, stopped at the table, picked up my clutch bag, and headed towards the Ladies Room. He caught up with me, pulled me around. I kept my head lowered not wanting to show the tears.

"Did I say or do something wrong?" Gently he lifted my chin, softly wiped the now overflowing tears then wrapped his arms around me. "Memories?" He whispered.

I nodded against his chest.

"How long has it been. I know when we had coffee you said you are a widow."

"Way too long for me to be acting like this." I pulled myself away. "I am sorry. It's just that it was our favorite song and I haven't heard it in years."

He held my hand. "I'm like that with "You Belong to Me". It was Eve's and my favorite. He grinned, "Wonder what kind of song today's young people will be remembering?"

I laughed, took the handkerchief he offered, wiped my tears and told him I needed to touch up my makeup. "I'll be out in a minute."

"He touched my cheek. "I'll be waiting."

And he was. He had paid the check, waited at the table and asked if I was ready to leave. I nodded. The Dewar's and wine were starting to do their little dance with me. I was becoming more than mellow, perhaps a bit tipsy and willed myself not to let down my guard.

At my front door, he leaned down, lightly kissed me, just enough to make me want more, deeper, perhaps with more passion. He tightened his arms around me. I was mellowing, beginning to feel romantic.

"Okay if I call you tomorrow?" His whisper was hoarse.

I nodded against his chest. He released me. "I'll call in the morning. Maybe we can have Brunch at Melar's. They have an excellent Champagne Brunch." He kissed me on the cheek. Watched as I unlocked the door, waited until I was inside before walking to his car.

I watched him through the side window. Maybe I won't wait for the 3rd date. I was feeling something more than mellow. I was feeling romantic.

The End

Mary McCauley

11 Romantic Short Story Blog - Free to read

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Killing Mr. Perfect

2017-09-22T11:57:00.000-07:00

I met Mr. Perfect on a train from Denver to Chicago. I slept with him that night surprising myself for not sticking to my 3 date rule. I was overwhelmed he paid attention to me and thought that when we were back in Chicago, I'd never see him again.

Six months later we married in a Judge's chamber, climbed on another train, this time from Chicago to NY where we indulged in romance, fine dining, and the best of Broadway.

How could I, an average looking, unclassy gal in my early thirties marry Mr. Perfect and live a life of romantic bliss? I don't ask myself that anymore. The era of bliss lasted until a week after our honeymoon. Mr. Perfect turned into a possessive, jealous, antagonizing, domineering husband.

He questioned every moment I was away from him. Where was I? Who was I with? What did I do? Why didn't I answer his call or reply immediately to his text?

At first, I was flattered when he made unexpected trips home where I worked creating websites for clients. Being flattered stopped when he searched the house. I realized he was looking for a lover.

The first time he hit me hard across the face accusing me of lying, I was dumbfounded.

Another time, when I ended a phone call from my mother and told him I needed to go pick up her medicine, he stood in front of the door demanding to know who I was meeting to have sex. Nothing I said, not even calling my mother back and having her talk to him convinced him. After hitting me with the phone, he dragged me to the guest room and locked me in.

He didn't know I kept a handgun in the night table drawer. It was from a time I lived in a gang-ridden neighborhood before becoming a successful web creator. I was the girlfriend of a gang leader who hit me one time too many. The police assumed he was killed by an opposing gang. I left that life, promised myself no man would ever hit me again. Mr. Perfect was the last one.

I'm serving time in the state women's prison for his murder. I'll be out soon. I've built a good business as a master web creator and novelist. Perhaps you read my last book, "Killing Mr. Perfect."

The End

Three of My Favorite Hallmark-Style Short Stories

Here are Hallmark eCards for the Loves in Your Life

A Home Run for Romance

2017-07-30T13:15:00.000-07:00

Gripping the ball, Shelia winds up, throws, and watches Barry swing and miss.

"Mom, it's supposed to go between my shoulders and knees." He pats the ground with the bat.

Thinking a ten-year-old ballplayer can only do so much without the help of someone who knows what they are doing, Shelia frowns, trying to suppress her anger at Barry’s father for leaving them. He wasn’t cut out for marriage and fatherhood he told her two years ago before moving to California.

I'm trying,” she calls from the pretend pitcher's mound.

”Need any help?” A vibrant male voice startles her

“Hey, Mr. Prentice,” Barry waves at a gym-honed body beneath a better than average looking face.

”I’m Todd Prentice. I’ll be Barry’s phys ed teacher in the Fall.” He explains removing his cap and brushing his hand through short, blond, curly hair. “Mind if I pitch him a few?”

Feeling like a robot staring at him, she hands him the ball and glove, staying rooted to the spot.

”Batter up!” Todd smiles at Barry. The words are clear with a hint of laughter. Sheila jumps out of the way as the ball connects with Barry’s bat and sails past them.

For nearly an hour, Sheila dashes about chasing balls Barry hits in one direction after another. Every muscle in her body aches. She is ready to quit but each time she tosses the ball to Todd, his gorgeous smile chases her thoughts, numbing her aches.

At the point when she believes she is going to collapse, a horn blast grabs her attention.. Glancing towards the parking area, she sees a red convertible sports car with a beautiful blond in the driver’s seat.”Todd, let's go. Sorry I'm late.” Ms. Gorgeous blond waves at him.

Sheila’s disappointment gives competition to hurting muscles as she watches Todd briefly talk to Barry, wave at her, and jog to the waiting sports car.

“Did you hear me, Mom? Mr. Prentice said he’d help me again tomorrow if we are here. Can we come back? Please!”

Her heart wants to say yes; her reasoning mind says to keep her distance from someone who is attractive and unavailable. Barry’s pleading eyes overrule her reasoning mind.

During the next three days, Sheila agonizes from aching muscles and heart watching Todd drive away with the blond. Friday afternoon he brings a fielder’s mitt. Placing his arm around her, showing her how to catch or scoop a ball, she chastises herself for having tingling feelings and wanton desires.

She stares at him as he returns to the mound, remembering that her mother told her that after thirty most of the good guys were taken. She sighs, hoping maybe there is someone like Todd who is good looking and thoughtful enough to take the time to work with a young boy. She wonders if he and the blond have children. Probably not! Most young mothers don’t drive fancy red sports cars.

The crack of the bat rivets her from her thoughts. The pop fly heads directly towards her. Sheila dashes forward, her eyes squinting in the sun. Suddenly Todd’s back hits her and together they tumble on the ground. Their arms and legs tangle. Todd quickly turns around to face her.

”Are you okay?” He is on his knees rubbing her arms, his eyes moving up and down her body. “I didn’t know you were right behind me, or I wouldn’t have tried for the ball.” Their eyes lock in an awareness of something beyond Sheila’s wildest dreams. Her heart races as he stands, pulls her to her feet, never taking his eyes from hers. Sheila glances at the parking lot looking for Todd’s wife.

“We gonna play anymore?” Barry calls to them.

“No Barry, I think your mom’s had enough for today.” Todd slips his arm around her, guiding her to the parking area. Barry follows.

At her car, Todd is hesitant, then says, “I was hoping you might let me take you to dinner tonight. It’s the least I can do after knocking you down out there.”

About to open her car door, Sheila stops, turns, and looks up at him. She stammers, stunned that a married man she admires as such a good guy could even think of inviting her to dinner.

”Isn’t’ your wife picking you up today?” Her voice is biting.

Todd stares at her questioningly. “My wife? I’m not married.” He wrinkles his forehead. “Oh, you mean Adrienne?” He laughs. “She’s not my wife. She’s my Realtor and only shows me places in the evening when her husband’s home with the kids. She picks me up here to save time, but no more. I found a place in Hampton Meadows.”

Sheila’s heart soars, feeling how a player must feel when he hits a three-bag homer and wins the World Series.

The End

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Where Has He Seen Her Before?

2017-03-13T17:17:00.002-07:00

Slowly pulling into the drop-off lane at Jordan High School, David glances at his son Mike. "You got everything?"

Mike nods, looking off to the side, anxious to jump out when the car stops. His seat belt already unbuckled.
"Lunch?"

Another nod.

"Homework?"

"Dad, I got everything, including the excuse note for missing school yesterday."

"Make sure you stay in school today. I don't want another call from the principal."

Mike opens the car door, mumbling. "I know Dad. You told me over and over again last night. It won't happen again."

The car line moves forward as David watches Mike head towards the entrance. He wonders what Melanie would do if she were still with them. Death took her much too young. It's been three years and he finally can think about her without his eyes tearing.

One more glance back at the school entrance and suddenly bam. He jerks forward. The car in front of him has stopped suddenly. Fortunately, he had barely begun moving. With his foot lightly on the brake, the impact is slight without engaging the airbag but enough for the driver of the car in front of him to open the door and step out.

He gets out of his car as horns begin sounding. One of the teachers directing the drop off area hurries to them. "Is anyone hurt?"

"I don't think so." David looks at the woman standing next to their cars. She looks very familiar. He quickly tries to place her. Most likely he has seen her at one of the school functions. "Are you okay?"

She smiles at him and nods. "I'm fine. I'm sorry, I saw my daughter's lunch on the backseat and stopped to call her to get it."

David examines both cars, still trying to remember her. He thinks it is more than at a school function. Her hazel eyes are familiar. He is sure he has looked into them before, but where?

The drop off cars go around them. The school bell rings starting a new day.

"I'm David Bridgetree." He hands her a business card. "If you find a problem after we leave please call me."

She glances at his card for a few moments. Looking up at him, she holds his gaze with a knowing smile. "Thank you. I'm sure there won't be a problem." She tucks the card into her jeans pocket.

David notices they are tight fitting jeans. Suddenly, he is aware that since Melanie's passing he has not paid attention to other women. Watching her as she walks to her car, he realizes he is watching all of her. From the shoulder touching auburn curly hair to the flip-flops, he watches her get into the car and likes what he sees.

Following her off the school grounds, he is aware she is glancing at him in her rear view mirror She waves as she turns onto a street. He smiles wondering again where he has seen her before. It was then he realizes she hadn't mentioned her name.

"Damn!" He slaps the steering wheel. "I know I know her. We've met before. This is going to drive me nuts." He heads for his office, deciding he needs to focus on work. During the day he often visualizes her eyes, the enigmatic smile, and the tight fitting jeans.

For the next two days, he hopes to see her in the drop off line. It does not happen but at least, his relationship with Mike is getting better. No calls from the Principal. That is good. Mike is coming home, doing his homework and going to bed earlier than usual. David asks him if he is okay. Mike assures him he is fine, just tired.

They spend the weekend at Melanie's parent's farm. Mike loves going there. Riding his horse Manchester is something he does nearly the entire time they are there. Not this weekend. He stays inside most of the time staring at the TV. Cell and game devices were taken away as punishment for skipping school.

"I'm worried about Mike," David's mother in law says as they sip coffee on the front porch. "His is so pale. It's almost ghost white, and he seems to have no energy."

Putting her at ease, he promises he will keep an eye on him and take him to the Dr. if he doesn't look better by the end of the week.

Getting home Sunday evening, David checks his voice mail.

"Mr. Bridgetree, it's Susan Fowler, the one who stopped suddenly at the drop-off line at school. Could you call me, please?"

David rolls the name over in his mind. It is familiar but not immediately traceable.

"Mike," he calls upstairs where Mike has gone to his room as soon as they got home. "Do you know anyone in school named Fowler?

"Can't think of anyone," Mike responds.

David listens to the voice mail again and punches redial on the landline phone. A voice answers after the first ring.

"Susan?" he asks, smiling as he pictures her in the tight jeans.

"No. I'm sorry. She is out. Can I take a message?"

David quickly snaps his attention away from the image in his mind. "Yes, thank you. Would you tell her David Bridgetree returned her call."

Hanging up, his thoughts are diverted as Mike stumbles down the stairs. "Dad, I'm not feeling too good. I think I'm going to be sick."

It is a rough night with Mike throwing up and slurring his words. When he seems delirious, David half carries him to the car. Driving frantically to the local ER, he speed- dials their doctor desperately describing the symptoms.

"I'll be there shortly." His Doctor responds, "I'll have someone waiting outside ER."

Slamming on the brakes, David stops in front of the ER doors. Seeing Mike lying unconscious in the back seat, an orderly in green scrubs quickly darts back inside, gets a gurney and returns with two aides. They lift Mike onto the gurney as David parks near the entrance, his heart pounding as he runs into the hospital. The admitting clerk calls him to the counter.

"Your son is in waiting area 4. I need your information before you see him."

Mike's Dr. arrives as David finishes giving the information. "David, stay here until I see Mike, okay?"

"No Dr. Steele. I want to be with him."

"Let me examine him first and get the vitals from the nurse. Please, wait here and I'll be out as soon as I know something."

Reluctantly David slumps on one of the chairs. Memories of being in this hospital with Melanie creep into his mind. He forces them away. Sitting still is hard. He wants to be with Mike. He thinks about calling Mike's grandparents and decides to wait until he knows something for sure.

"David!" It is Susan Fowler. "What happened?"

Quickly standing, he suddenly realizes where he has seen her before. Held back emotions begin to swarm. He fights them; he can't let them get into his concern about Mike.

She motions for him to sit and eases into the chair next to him. "I just got off duty and was going to my car when I saw you. What happened?"

"You were Melanie's nurse the last few days she was here." He pauses, looking at her intently. "Just before she left us." It all came flooding back to him. Remembering how attentive and caring she was to Melanie and to him. How could he not remember her?

With a gentle movement, she takes his hand into hers. He remembers her holding Melanie's hand during those last moments. She had been off duty but stayed knowing the end was near.

"I remember Melanie, David. I recognized you the other day at school, but I didn't want to dredge up the memories."

"It's my son, Mike. Something terrible has happened. I don't know what. He was incoherent, mumbling and then unconscious. Our Doctor is with him now."

"Have they told you anything?"

Shaking his head, he tightens his lips. He is becoming terribly afraid. Pushing the fear away, he says, "I called you earlier. A girl answered."

"That was my daughter. Pausing, putting together her thoughts, she let's go of his hand. "I called you because I thought you should know something about Mike."

Before she continues, Dr. Steele walks toward them. They both stand abruptly. Melanie moves away, giving them privacy.

" Dr. Steele, Is Mike okay? He's going to be alright isn't he?"

"Yes David, he is going to be okay. We're going to keep him overnight."

"Why? If he's going to be okay, why do you need to keep him?"

"Let's sit down, David. It's nearly morning and I know you've got to be tired."

"I just want to know what's wrong with my son."

Dr. Steele sits and nods for David to sit next to him. "Your son has alcohol poisoning."

Jumping to his feet, shaking his head, David says. "Are you out of your mind? There's no way. We were at his grandparents all weekend. They don't drink. Neither do I." David is shouting, unaware of people in the waiting area looking at him.

"Dr. Steele, I would have smelled it if he'd been drinking. You've got to be wrong."

"Do you have hand sanitizer in your house?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with Mike's situation?"

Taking a long, deep breath, Dr. Steele explains. "It's the latest fad among teenagers. They are drinking hand sanitizer to get high. Actually to get drunk."

David stares at him, not understanding. "The bad part is," Dr. Steele continues to explain, "hand sanitizers are 60 percent alcohol, about 120 proof. We've had quite a few young people in here with the same thing as Mike. When you called and described his symptoms, I thought that was what was wrong. We're going to keep him here until he sobers up. I'll release him later today. In the meantime, I suggest you go home and get some sleep."

As Dr. Steele walks away, Susan returns. Seeing the stunned look in his eyes she asks, "alcohol poisoning?"

David nods.

"That's why I called you." She continues hesitatingly. "I asked my daughter, Olivia if she knows Mike. She told me she knows of him. She said she'd heard rumors that the crowd he hangs out with is drinking the stuff and getting pretty drunk. I called you because I thought you should know. We lost a young boy here last week because of it."

"I can't believe this. I've got to go see Mike."
He turns, sees someone wheeling Mike out of ER on a hospital bed and rushes to him. "Mike, do you hear me."

"He's still out of it. Sir. Probably won't wake up for a few hours. We're taking him to room 416."

Susan touches David's shoulder. "You should go home, David. There's nothing you can do here."

"I'm going to stay. I can't go home until I see him and know he is going to be better."

"The cafeteria is open all night. I'll stay with you for awhile unless you'd rather be alone."

They sit at a small table near the window. The sun is coming up and David realizes how tired he is.

His mind is twirling, remembering the times spent in the cafeteria when Melanie was being changed or medicated. He remembers Susan gently caring for her.

"You must be tired." He looks at Susan. "You worked the night shift." She doesn't look as tired as he feels. He is glad she suggested they have coffee.

"I didn't work all night. I came in to take over for one of the nurses who got sick. I'm off for the next three days."

"I never got a chance to thank you for all you did those last few days Melanie was here."

"I liked her very much. When she was lucid she talked a lot about you and Mike and her expectations for him. She said you were a good father and felt your example would help him become as nice as you are."

Looking down at his cup, feeling suddenly like a failure he whispers. "I guess I failed at that."

Not responding for a few moments, she reaches across the table, placing her hand on his. "You haven't failed. It's tough raising kids alone. I know because it hasn't been easy for me. Olivia's father has been gone since she was five."

"He died?"

"No, we're divorced. He is somewhere in the Middle East working for an oil company. Olivia hasn't seen him in three years."

"I guess in a way I'm glad Melanie isn't here to see this. But then I guess if she was here, it wouldn't have happened."

"David, it's happening to a lot of young people from all different family lives. Single parents, married couples, and grandparents raisting kids have been having problems with this awful fad. Our minister spoke about it at our church on Sunday. "

"What did he say?"

"For one thing, if you are going to have hand sanitizers around, make sure they aren't the gel kind." She grins at him as he seems to relax. "He also said we need to inform our kids about the danger, not just with hand sanitizers but with alcohol and drugs. He said he has shown a video to the youth group at our church, and it was scary showing kids falling down and getting sick." Maybe I could borrow the video to show Mike and his friends. "I'm sure there are some online. Looking at her watch she stands, "I've got to go home and drive Olivia to school. I'm sure Mike will be okay.”

“Thank you for staying. I appreciate your company and your input.”

"I'm glad I was here."

He walks her to the waiting area. "I'm glad you are here too and also for what you did for Melanie."

She stops at the admission desk, writes on a piece of paper and hands it to him. "This is my cell number. Call me and let me know how Mike is doing. Somehow I think you will work it out with him. Maybe you can talk with our Minister. He's good with young people."

David watches her walk through the doors to the parking area knowing he will call her, and not just to tell her about Mike. Somehow he feels Melanie will be okay with him calling her.

The End

When Her Ex-Lover Returns

2017-03-13T17:02:00.000-07:00

Damn! I'm not in Mom's house two minutes putting away the groceries she asked me to pick up when she rushes into the kitchen gushing.
"Emma, did you hear? Justin Tracy is back in town."

"Yes mom, I heard and I heard and I heard. At least four people called to tell me he is back."

"Aren't you excited?"

"No! Should I be?"

"I have to go Mom. I have a date." It is a half-truth. I do have to go, but I don't have a date.

"With that guy from work, you went out with last week?"

"Yes!" I lie.

"When do I get to meet him?"

Slamming the car door, I pull out my cell and call my best friend, Marcy.

"Can you meet me at Rosie's? I need company."

Rosie's is a bar where people from the neighborhood hang out. It has an old-fashioned jukebox filled with songs from the 60's. There are two pool tables, a horseshoe bar, a few tables, and booths. Back in the 60's it had been a cafe style restaurant. Now it is a bar with neon beer signs, giant TVs with muted sport's channels, and Rosie's big welcoming smile. Marcy and I have been coming to Rosie's since we were old enough to legally drink.

"Okay, Emma, I figure you heard Justin is back." Marcy tosses her Vera Bradley bag on the stool next to where she places her ample body. "You okay with it?"

"I'm going to be fine. No! I am fine, not going to be. I'm good. He has no effect on me what-so-ever."

"Sure! come on Emma, it's me, Marcy. You can't fool me."

"You gals doing okay?" Rosie asks, placing a nearly full glass of Chardonnay on the bar for me. Her arched eyebrows tell me she also knows Justin is back.

"Just fine Rosie. Thanks." Marcy stirs her gin and tonic with a swizzle stick before taking a sip.

I am not fine. I know it, Marcy knows it, and Rosie knows it. The whole damn bar probably knows it. There is no way I will admit it or talk about it. I don't want Justin Tracy back in town. I have a good life without him. I barely think about him anymore. Now I am lying to myself.

"So what are you going to do when you see him?" Marcy asks, shaking her glass, rattling the ice.

"Say hello."

"That's it! After how he hurt you?
"Marcy, it was 6 years ago. He made his choice and it wasn't me. I'm over it."

Kate motions to Rosie for another drink and points to my wine glass. I shake my head.

She is right. Six years and I still feel the hurt. Why have I never let it go? What will I do when I see him?

"So my friend, what will you do when you see him?" she nudges me from my thoughts.

"I will be civil. I will say hello and smile."

"Well, you better get ready with that smile now because he just walked in the door." She nods her head towards the image in the wall mirror behind shelves filled with liquor bottles.

"Hey Rosie, put a beer on my tab for Justin," Jake Malone yells.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see him, wishing I could slip out the door without being noticed.

"Uh, oh!" Marcy whispers. "He's coming over. Should I leave?"

"Good God no!" I hiss. "Don't you dare move.

"Marcy! Emma!" Justin slips his arms around both our shoulders like old times.

I stiffen, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"Yeah, Yeah, I hear you." Rosie motions for him to come to the end of the bar where she gives him a hug.

I relax. Well, I don't quite relax but I stop cringing.

"He is still handsome and as personable as ever." Marcy nudges me.

"I guess" I mumble taking the last sip of wine. I slip my purse strap on my shoulder. "I'm ready to go. How about you?"

"Emma!" It is Justin. "I've been waiting for you."

Putting his hands on my shoulders, he turns me around. "Can we talk?"

"Not now Justin. Call me some time. I need to get mom's prescription before Dudley closes his pharmacy. She's not feeling well." When had I become such a liar?

"Nothing serious, I hope."

Late in the afternoon, I start closing down. There hadn't been anyone in two hours. Time to call the open house a closing house. As I am ready to walk out the door, Justin is standing there.

"Am I too late to see the house?"

Fighting the desire to either slam the door or rush into his arms, I turn, walking quickly back into the foyer.

"Are you a potential buyer or just a looker?" My voice quivers.

"Buyer. I'm home for good."

Standing on the terraced stone deck looking at the carefully designed landscape, he puts his hand on my shoulder. "Emma, look at me."

As if reading my mind he says, "Emma, our breakup was devastating. I could never understand why."

"Okay." I stammer, turning quickly, I lunge through the open French doors.

"Emma! Stop! Why didn't you answer any of my phone calls?" He pulls me around. "As soon as I finished officers candidate school, I called you. I called again and again. You never answered and you never returned any of my texts. After months of trying to reach you, I quit. Then when I heard you were engaged to Rick Marson, I knew I wasn't going to get you back."

For a few moments, I thought I hadn't heard him correctly. "You heard I was what?"

"Marrying Rick."

"I never planned on marrying Rick. We dated off and on. It was never serious."

"Why are you back now?"

"It's home. Even if Mom and Dad no longer live here, it's where I grew up. It has good memories. Mostly good memories of us."

"Emma. I'm not in the military anymore. I have a good import business that I work on the Internet. I'm going to settle here for life." Taking my hands into his, he pulls me closer. "Is there any chance I can see you again? Can we go to dinner, or lunch, or coffee, or get a drink, or anything?"

Looking up into his eyes, seeing the love still there, I could never say no.

"I guess we can do something. Maybe dinner. We can talk more about you buying this house."

"Only if it's a house you think you might want to live in with me."

As he pulled me into his arms, I knew Mom was right when she said I was still in love with him. I hadn't fooled her or Marcy even if I tried to fool myself.

THE END

Online Dating Romance or Disaster

2017-03-13T16:18:00.004-07:00

"Am I a dork?" I ask my friend Kelly

"Good heavens no, Callan. You are anything but a dork. Not with that flaming red hair and those emerald green eyes. My Mom swears you are a replica of Brenda Star from old comic book days.

Kelley is my best friend, my only still unmarried friend. She is dating again after a long relationship ended. We are shopping for shoes. Kelley is trying on a pair of stiletto sandals, grimacing as she tugs the ankle straps into the right places.

"If I'm not a dork, am I really boring?" I watch her carefully stand.

"It's that match up online date you had last night, right?" She reaches for my hand to steady her.

I nod, grimly remembering how painful it was. Mentally painful that is.

"Was he another loser?".

"I hate to call him a loser." I watch her wobble along the narrow aisle.

"You're too nice, Callan. You got to call a spade a spade and a loser a loser."

Sitting down, she unlaces the sandals, puts them in the box, shrugs her shoulders and suggests we go to Ike's for Pizza.

Waiting for our order, I reluctantly tell her about my latest match-up date. "He wasn't bad looking, kind of average but he was so out of touch with reality. I tried making conversation with him. I asked about his work. He said 'work is work'. I mean he never initiated conversation. He replied to my questions with short monotone answers. Kelley, he seemed bored out of his mind."

Mitzy places the steaming hot pizza on the table." Here's Ike's finest for his two best customers. He said to tell you 'Bon appetite'.

Swallowing a bite of pizza, Kelly touches the checkered napkin at her mouth, takes a sip of beer and shrugs. "Callan, this is the fourth date with that Internet match-up place that didn't work out. I hate to say this but did you ever think it might be you being too fussy?"

Kelley sprinkles grated cheese on her slice of pizza."Maybe you should have signed her up instead of you".

"She's doing fine on her own." It makes me feel even more of a boring dork knowing how many eligible men she has dated since she and Dad divorced. "I promised her I'd try five and that is my limit. One should have been enough."

Kelley sighs, finishing the last of her beer and asks if I want to go to a movie. Her boyfriend is bowling with the guys and she is free to spend time with me.

For the next two days, I ignore the matchup website, not wanting to face another failed date, determined to be content without a man in my life. I made it to 28, with only one serious relationship.

Unfortunately, that failure kept me from trying. I didn't want to be hurt like that again. Why did I give into Mom?

Looking back on the fiasco, I remember my unease after submitting the application online two months before. Since it was local, I was asked to come into the office for an interview and professional video shots. Mom assured me it was all above board. Several of her friends, both male and female, as well as her friend's adult children, had done it, she reminded me. "Sweetheart," she smiled, "If I needed it, I'd do it myself."

Thanks, Mom, thanks a lot for reminding me that I can't get a date on my own.

The 'Match For life' office was on the 5th floor of a building in downtown Tampa. Looking through the glass doors at a reception area, I saw Jessica Taylor, a former classmate. She greeted me warmly and we easily chatted for a few minutes bringing each other up to date on our lives. She was married with two kids; me, I am single, living in a small apartment. As we chatted, an older looking man comes out of a room, smiles at us and quickly exits.

"He is a faculty member of one of our Middle Schools," she shares. "Divorced about a year ago. He's not bad looking. Who knows Callan, maybe he will be the one for you."

I felt that all of Tampa would know I am single once I started the online dating route. I almost backed out.

"I think it's okay to go in. Len's been anxious to see you."

"Len?"

"Len Maxwell. You remember him from high school. Oh, maybe not. He was a dork back then, glasses, nerdy like with slicked back hair. Wait till you see him now."

Trying to remember him, I am shaking my head when the door opens. "Callan, come in. We are all set up for the interview and video shoot." Mr. Drop dead handsome, blue-eyed, gym workout body with a dazzling smile motions me into the office. I turn to Jessica, mouthing Len? She nods and grins.

The interview was routine, except for my throbbing heart. Sitting across from Mr. Good Looks with a fantastic smile, which he gives me now and then when he looks from the computer screen to me. I tried to remember him from high school. Nothing. Fortunately, he didn't bring it up.

"Advertising and PR with a local talk radio station. I see you got your degree at FSU. Mine was in Computer Science at UF." He looks at me briefly then back to the computer.

"I hope my going to an arch rival school isn't a problem." I am only half serious, anxious to see that smile.

We stand; he leads me to a side door. "The questions are the usual, what type of person you most enjoy being with. Basic things like that,"

That was it. I didn't see him again, much to my disappointment. Tampa is not what you would call a big city but neither is it a small town. You would have thought I'd bump into him somewhere but I didn't. I might have called Jessica if I could remember her married name. I know, I could have called the office on some pretense, but I didn't. If I were to see him again, I would and if not, well I could dream couldn't I?

After thinking about the interview with Len Maxwell, I decided to go back online, get the fifth and final date over with and cancel my availability. Going to the website, I pull up my profile. There is only one possible match-up for me listed. Guess Len couldn't find any guys interested in my profile. There isn't much to read about the guy on the screen. He is a systems programmer for an International Investment company. The picture of #5 isn't too bad, although it looks a little photo-shopped. Get it over with, I tell myself. Get out of this unpleasant program I let Mom talk me into.

Quickly I post where and when the best time to meet is for me. I suggest Ike's pizza, 7PM, Tuesday evening. I figure early enough to get home for the prime time TV shows and a weeknight so I can use the early workday excuse.

I dress casually in black slimming slacks, a white tailored silk blouse, and black ballet flats.

Thankfully, no one I know is at Ike's. There will be no gossip when this match-up doesn't work as there had been with the other four. Looking around for a single male who looks like the PC image and seeing none, I let Mitzy show me to a table for two by the window.

Inside he looks around, smiles at Mitzy and comes to the table.

"Oh, oh. If the boss shows up, I guess that means my date backed out. That's not good." I smile as he pulls out a chair across from me.

"Not necessarily true." He takes a menu from Mitzy, pretending to look at it, then looks up at me, a wide smile lighting up his eyes. "You like mushrooms on your pizza. I think that was somewhere in your profile.

Responding hesitatingly I agree that I like mushrooms and anchovies.

"I can do the mushrooms but anchovies will have to come on the side."

"Wine or beer?" He asks, handing the menu back to Mitzy.

"Beer is good." I nod at Mitzy as she backs away, her eyes intent on Len. He tells her he will also have a beer. She writes the order, barely taking her eyes off him then quickly leaves.

"I like the way you let your hair fall naturally rather than pulled back as you had it on the video. It's the way you wore it in high school." He looks directly into my eyes. "You don't remember me do you?"

Embarrassed to admit it, I shake my head.

"We sat at the same table in science class and we were in English together our junior and senior years."

Mitzy puts the beers on the table as my embarrassment increases. He is remembering details while I have no memory of him at all. Sensing my unease, he pulls out his wallet, removes a picture and hands it to me.

Looking at the picture of an obviously studious, serious young man wearing thick gold-rimmed glasses, I can't believe it is the same person sitting across from me. Glancing up from the picture, then at Len, I remember the eyes, not smiling as they are across from me at Ike's, but the same color, deep cobalt blue, this time without glasses

"Ah, your memory is coming back." He grins, taking the photo and putting it back into his wallet. Mitzy places the pizza on the center of the table, staring down at him until she realizes what she is doing. She quickly scoots away.

"I had a terrific crush on you in our last two years at Hillsboro High." Toasting me with his glass, he adds, "I was hoping you'd go to UF instead of State. I was depressed over your decision."

"You never said anything." I stammer, not believing this was the same person from high school

"I was shy. Remember? You were popular. Even talking to you about Shakespeare and math was a monumental task."

Suddenly I am the shy one. Unable to think of anything to say that would make me feel better about not remembering him, I skip to the present.

"So, what happened to my date for this evening? Did he just back out or did something come up that he couldn't make it?"

"You don't work for Perfect Match Site?"

"No, but I am into Computers. I own several large PC stores along the East Coast. We just moved into the Midwest and are expanding into the Southeast, including Tampa. We moved our headquarters here.”

I am surprised when he mentions the name of his company, "I applied for a job with them."

"I know. I was going over some of the company applications last year and saw yours. I was hoping you wouldn't get hired."

"You didn't want me to get hired?"

"It was all wrong for you, Callan. It was an office job,"

"You have no way of knowing what is right or wrong for me."

"You kept me from getting the job?"

"No, I didn't do anything to keep you from getting it. Human Resource makes those decisions. I have a rule not to interfere unless I have to."

"I didn't have anything to do with you not getting the job, but I'm afraid I have not been quite honest with you." He reaches across the table and takes my hand. "I have been manipulative."

Pulling my hand back, I stare at him without saying a word.

"I selected the dates for you."

"You selected the dates for me?"

"Yes, and I made sure they were guys who wouldn't be right for you. As a matter of fact and I hate to admit this, two of them are my friends who agreed to not be good dates."

"I don't believe you. How could you do that to me?"

"It seems like a lot of trouble to get a date. You could have called me."

"I know, I know, but I didn't want to take the chance you'd say no. And I'm still not sure if I ask that you will say yes."

He may not be sure but there is no doubt in my mind what I will say when he asks. Looking into his dazzling eyes, I know without a doubt there will be no more online dating for me. I finally met my perfect match.

The End

Click here for 10 more short stories

Detectives, Ghosts, and Romance

2017-03-09T08:44:00.000-08:00

Pete Hayes is the worst. Ex-Marine, ex-cop, ex-lover, he irritates her with his tough 'I can beat anybody anytime' image. He also makes her heart beat faster when she is near him. Something she diligently tries to avoid. There are too many memories of what might have been or what should have been when they were lovers. Alley fights remembering when they planned a future together.

Their territory is in a southern city with history oozing from every portal or at least it seems like it. Tour groups are common, especially around Halloween when Ghost Tours are especially popular. It was the day of one of those tours that Alley couldn't avoid Pete. They are opposing P.I.s in a divorce case. She is working for the husband, Pete for the wife. Of course, he is working for the wife. Women in this town, married or single can't resist his charm. Alley knew some women hired him for non-existing cases just to be around him.

In their mutual divorce case, Megan, is charging Alex with infidelity. She hired Pete to get proof. Alley is convinced there is no infidelity. She believes Alex is being taken for his old family wealth, which he recently inherited. There was no prenup. When they married four years earlier, Alex had no idea he was the illegimate grandson of the town's wealthiest and recently deceased millionaire. As the only living heir, he became the town's newest millionaire overnight.

Alley lives in an impressive but rapidly becoming dilapidated old mansion barely inside the city limits. It has been in the family for several generations and the only reason each of those generations continued to live there is it is totally free and clear of any mortgage. There was a stipulation in her great-great-great grandfather's will. If anyone ever took out a loan, using the house as collateral, they would immediately be evicted, and the house would be turned over to the city to be used as a museum.

The house and acres of land had been maintained fairly well until after WWII. As the town became less and less of a cotton and tobacco agriculture center, the family began selling the acres to resort developers using the income as a livelihood. Alley dreams of someday bringing it back to its old elegance. On a private detective's income, it is just a dream.

Stoneridge, the name of her home, is on the Ghost Tour list. She is paid a small fee for allowing groups to be guided through the downstairs rooms that have not been changed over the years. Exquisite aging paintings of ancestors adorn walls in the three main rooms, two Victorian style parlors, and an elegant dining room.

The tour companies devised an intriguing story of silver hidden during that terrible war. Whispers by a tour leader of possible ghosts haunting the upstairs always has tour members glancing at the ceiling.

Alley made peace with the ghost as a child. The ethereal entity she has seen in childhood dreams seems friendly. If she feels the presence now as an adult, she considers it part of her imagination, even though some of the encounters are more real than imaginative. Footsteps, when she is alone in the house, which is most of the time, she attributes to the old house settling as it ages. Passing images she believes are merely shadows caused by swaying curtains. She never allows herself to consider that curtains do not sway when windows are closed. Yes, Alley has made peace with the ghost or ghosts by not admitting that they could be real.

Early morning of an expected Tour group arriving later in the day, Alley is in her office, the old carriage house her father made into a workroom. She converted it into an office when she came home from Atlanta after his death. It has also been her mother's sewing room years before. She can feel the aura of their energies when she takes a break from working on files on her computer. She can almost hear the hum of the sewing machine as her mother altered clothes for the town's elite. When she looks at the workbench across the room, she remembers her father leaning over a piece of furniture he was restoring for some of those same elite families. Yes, there are ghosts, at least ghost memories.

The tapping on the door startles her from her thoughts. She isn't expecting anyone. Taking a gulp of coffee from a mug, she stands quickly and flits to the door. Looking out the side window, she is surprised to see Pete. What in the world could he want?

"Alley, I know you're here. I tried the house doorbell but there was no answer, and I see your car in the driveway. Open up. We need to talk."

Opening the door slightly, she looks questioningly at Pete. Grinning, relaxed, hands in his pockets, he seems casually friendly. He is also more handsome than when they were lovers.

"Come on. Open the door. I'm not going to hurt you. Why do you always seem so afraid of me?" He pushes lightly against the door. You've been like that since we were kids."

"I'm not afraid of you Pete Holmes." Alley straightens her shoulders and opens the door wider.

"Sometimes you act like you did when we were in Mr. Allen's prep school." His smile is alarmingly attractive.

"What do you want?" She refuses to go back to the days when she had a crush on him and he scared the hell out of her. Or the days she was surrounded by their love and no fears of ever being hurt. But hurt she was, not physical but emotional, almost as painful.

"Can I come in? We need to talk about the Dupree's situation."

"If you are here to tell me Megan is dropping the divorce case, you don't need to come in."

"Come on Alley, the least you can do is offer me a cup of coffee. I was up most of the night watching your client."

"I'm sure you didn't find anything going on with him and a woman, did you?"

Pete shakes his head. "No, I didn't, but that's not what I'm here to talk to you about. Come on, a cup of coffee, some talk and I'll be out of here before you know it." There was that attractive smile again, this time in his steady blue eyes too, soft and almost caring.

Turning abruptly, she motions for him to follow her to the house. “I'll make a fresh pot, you talk and leave." There was no way she was going to let him charm her. She allowed that to happen in college. He broke her heart when he joined the Marines.

She leads him to the side entrance to the kitchen. In old plantation times, it has been a separate building. One of the ancestors extended the house to encompass it and remodeled it, which needed to be done again. Top of Alley's redo list when the funds are available.

Silence as he sits at the chrome table watching her empty the pot, rinse, fill it with water from the tap, add a filter and coffee. She finally looks over at him.

"So talk."

"Come and sit down."

"I'm fine where I am."

"Alley, I'm not going to hurt you. I've never physically hurt you. Why do you always act like I will?"

Looking at him, her thoughts are of the emotional pain he'd brought her. To her, it was as physical as if he has hit her.

"I'm not afraid of you Pete."

She pours steaming coffee into two porcelain cups, put them on a tray with cream and a sugar and places them on the table. Standing quickly, he pulls out a chair for her. The nearness of him standing there, waiting for her to sit in the chair is unnerving. She drops down into the seat quickly, reaches for the cream pitcher and distracts herself from his nearness.

Sitting quietly across from her for a few moments, he smiles over the rim of his cup.

I think we should be partners."

She gasps, nearly spewing a mouthful of coffee. "What?"

"I think we would work well together."

"You are out of your mind." She slams the mug on the table.

"Not at all. I've watched how you work. You can handle the soft side of cases, and I'll do the hustling or the strong arm stuff when necessary."

"Are you implying I can't handle the rough stuff in this business?" It was a part of the business she didn't like. Being tough with some of the not so nice people she has to deal with.

"I'm implying that you are better with the softer part of it than I am. I'm considered a tough guy. That's what clients expect of me. I don't handle women very well."

"No one would guess that from the number of female clients you have."

"I'm not good with the things they want me to do. Find out if their kids are on drugs. They should know that without hiring me. They ask me to follow husbands, and I know the guys aren't fooling around. Why the heck would they suspect him?"

Alley smiles, knowing why those women hired him, at least, most of them. She also knows if they become partners those women would suddenly drop their cases.

"I like it when you smile, Alley. I don't see you do it very often."

"Pete, I don't think a partnership would work."

"Why? I think we could be good together. We were good once. Have you forgotten?"

Alley looks down at her cup, wanting to keep those memories out of her mind. Shaking her head, she says, "Don't go there ."

"I don't know what happened, or why you broke up with me. I joined the Marines because I wanted to serve my country. It was a family tradition since the Revolution. You know all the males in my family served in the military. It was my duty."

Finally looking at him, she feels tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. He is dislodging memories she has kept deep inside. "I begged you not to go. Your grandfather was killed in Viet Nam, your father wounded in Kosovo. I believed if you loved me you wouldn't go." The tears overflow. She feels the heartbreak all over again. Pushing back her chair she stands. "I want you to leave."

He crashes his chair to the floor, holding her as she struggles against him. It's been years Alley. We both have had relationships since then. None of them worked. Why do you think they didn't work?"

She stops struggling, letting him hold her. Shaking her head against his chest, her lips tremble, her throat too tight to answer.

He reaches down, puts his finger under her chin tipping her head towards his. "They didn't last because they didn't have what we had. If I've acted like a tough, uncaring guy around you, it's because I didn't think you cared, and I wasn't about to let you know I still love you."

"I thought you hated me for breaking up with you."

"I did for awhile. I wanted to grab you and shake some sense into you. I was going to when I came back from Afghanistan, but you were in Atlanta and I'd heard you were seeing some executive up there."

"I was." The tears stop as a new wave of emotion replaces the hurt.

"What happened?"

She hesitates a few moments before looking up into his eyes. "He wasn't you."

Pete smiles down at her, pulling her closer."Well, if you won't be my partner in the Private Eye business, how about being my partner for life?"

Looking over his shoulder at the swaying curtains, noticing the windows are closed, she hears footsteps on the stairs and in the distance, she hears the whir of a sewing machine and the soft thump of a hammer. She knows her ghosts are urging her to follow her heart.

The End

Fifty Real American Ghost Stories

The English Lord and The American Tart!

2017-03-06T14:12:00.000-08:00

The English Lord

and the

American Tart

Armand's wrinkled brow, squinting eyes, and pursed lips clearly indicate his disdain of the young woman Lord Cranston brought home from America to be his bride. Obviously, she is beneath the Lord's status. The Butler's eyes reflecting his disdain. Her garish makeup and low-cut dress indicate a showgirl rather than a woman of rank. Armand hopes the lust will quickly wear off before the announced wedding two weeks hence. He replaces the disdainful look with a somber welcome greeting, taking the Lord's wool cloak, and the soon to be a bride's cheap fake fur coat. He had difficulty hiding his disappointment.

"Your parents, Lord and Lady Cranston are awaiting you in the drawing-room, Sir," he mutters through gritted teeth. "This way please."

"Thank you, Armand, I quite well know how to go to the drawing room in my own home. Please be sure Miss Cassidy's suite is ready and have a footman take her things there. If Clarice is available, I would like her to attend to my fiance's needs. Thank you and that is all."

The curt dismissal irritates the Butler beyond reason. Tensing, he responds civilly. "I shall see to it immediately, Sir."

"Come along Darling, I can't wait for my parents to meet you."

As Sir Edward and the appalling Miss Cassidy make their way across the foyer, Armand hurriedly finds Mrs. Gates, the housekeeper.

"His Lordship wants Clarice to tend to the Yank."

"I'll not hear of it. Clarice only cares for the gentry. She will be appalled. No, I'll not allow it." Mrs. Gates fists on her hips shows solid determination.

"Fine. Go tell his Lordship in the parlor with his parents." Armand, knowing quite well Mrs. Gates would do no such thing, quickly walks away,

She fumes for a few moments before climbing the staircase to the third floor. Informing Clarice of her new duties for the bride to be would be difficult, to say the least, but she is the housekeeper, and Clarice her charge. One had to do what one had to do.

Edward and Abbey enter the parlor. His father stands abruptly upon seeing them. Lady Cranston raises her head, her stern looking eyes register shock as she looks at Abbey.

"Mother, Father, may I present Abigail Cassidy?

"You can call me Abbey your lord and ladyship. I ain't too much for formal stuff."

A serious gasp comes from the two elders.

"Sweetheart, shall I pour you some Sherry?'

Abbey frowns. "Sherry? Eddie Darlin, you know I like the good stuff, not that fluff teatime slurping. I'd like a Bourbon, neat please, my angel."

Two muffled gasps.

Edward pours a healthy splash from the crystal decanter on the sideboard, hands the glass to Abbey and pulls her into his arms for a long ardent kiss.

Two more gasps followed by a fake cough.

"You are doing great," he whispers into her ear, then moves his head to kiss her neck.

"Edward,' Lord Cranston! Would you ring for Armand, please? I'm sure Miss Cassidy would like to freshen up and perhaps have a rest before dinner. Armand can have Mrs. Gates show her to her rooms."

"That is so swell of you Lord C. I could use a hot soak in a tub after that carriage ride." She glances sideways at Edward. "Would you like to join me, Eddie?"

Two furtive gasps this time followed by hysterical coughing.

"Not this time." Edward kisses her lightly on the cheek, as he tugs the bell pull for Armand. "You are marvelous." Whispering softly, he lightly clips her under the chin.

"Of course, I am," she put her lips close to his ear, "I'm good at what I do."

Edward takes her by the arm. "I will show my bride-to-be to her rooms. When Armand arrives, please tell him we will be down to dinner at eight." He and Abbey nearly bump into Armand as they hurry from the parlor.

"You were wonderful." Edward grabs her hand hurrying her to the staircase.

"Your poor mother. I thought she was going to swoon when I walked into the parlor." Abbey cups her hand over her mouth hushing her giggles.

Quickly moving up the two flights of stairs, Edward bounds ahead of Abbey, opens a door and rushes in.

"Clarice!" He sprints across the room, startling the young maid who turns on him with burning anger flaring in her eyes.

"How dare you demand I take care of your intended betrothed's room? How dare you?" Tears suddenly cascade along her cheeks as she looks at Abbey standing in the doorway.

"I am sorry!" she apologizes. "The room is nearly ready for you."

Edward reaches for Clarice, but she pulls back, knocking against the newly lighted hearth.

"Get away from me. How dare you come near me?" She seethes, anger biting each word.

Abbey moves quickly into the room. "Hey, hey, now don't go getting your pantaloons in a twist. Eddie, I thought she knew."

Clarice recoveres her composure. "Knew what?" She stares at Abbey. "That Edward went to America and brought back a fiancé? Excuse me, that Sir Edward brought back a fiancé?" She emphasized the word, Sir.

"You two have to talk, and I have to take a bath. Show me where the tub is and a towel. I am weary and want to relax."

Clarice shows her to an adjoining room where a young housemaid curtsies to Abbey, then takes empty buckets from the room, with another curtsy before passing Edward.

"If there is nothing more, Sir, I shall leave." Clarice nearly stumbles hurrying to the door.

Without hesitating Edward pulls her into his arms, his lips quickly finding hers.

Stammering, her fists pounding against his chest, she pushes him away, repeating her earlier questions. "How dare you?"

"I dare because I love you." He smiles down at her. "Have you forgotten that?"

"I will not be your paramour. Under no circumstances will I allow you to degrade me. I may not be of the proper class to be your wife, but I will not lower myself to become your mistress." Turning she grabs the door handle.

"Clarise. I would never have you as a mistress. I want you for my wife. I thought we agreed to that before my parents sent me to America to be away from you."

She lets go of the door handle, looks up at him, her angry sapphire eyes still spewing tears.

"Then what is she doing here? Your bride to be!"

"Come here my darling." He again pulls her into his arms. This time she lets him hold her. "She is not my bride to be. She is an American actress I hired to stun my parents." He laughs softly. "And she certainly did that. Trust me my darling, within twenty-four hours my parents will be begging me to marry you, as we planned before they sent me to America."

This time, Clarice does not fight him as his lips hungrily find hers.

Abbey sinks deeper into the tub thinking about the $2,000 and a paid trip to Paris Edward promised. But, seeing this is such a fancy house with servants and all, well maybe she could find a way to stay longer, or perhaps up the ante. It was worth thinking about.

The End!

A Rumor and The Truth

2017-03-02T14:54:00.000-08:00

It was the second Sunday in a row I didn't go to church. When Pete and our boys left, I felt guilt about not going. It was a ritual; church then Bailey's for Brunch; every Sunday since the twins were two, now going on nine.

I sipped from the now cooling mug of coffee, staring out the window, trying to fight the guilt of lying to Pete about back pain and not being able to sit through the entire service. I've been using the back pain excuse often lately. I said it was why I didn't go to my part-time job at the church or skipped the women's auxiliary meeting. Did he know I was lying? Is that why he gave me a sad look before leaving or didn't kiss me?

"You want to meet us at Baliey's?" He asked before ushering the boys out the door. Hesitating, I said if my back felt better. He shook his head and closed the door as guilt consumed me.

The sad part was that I had no reason for guilt except not going to church and lying about my back. It was the damned rumor going around about Zack and me. Not that anything was going on between us. He was head of the board of directors for the church. My part time job there included writing a monthly newsletter and a weekly Blog. Zack and I had coffee a few times in the evening to go over details for my writing. He worked during the day and it was easier to meet in the evening. Pete and Zack's wife Alice knew we met and why.

I admit there seemed to be a mutual attraction between us but we both loved our spouses. He and Pete played golf occasionally. Alice and I often worked on church social events and saw each other at PTA meetings. There was no way Zack and I could or would jeopardize our marriages no matter how strong our attraction.

Mom told me about the rumors going around.that maybe something was going on between us. She didn't believe them but suggested we find a better way to communicate. I actually laughed at the ridiculous idea. She gave me one of those 'mother-daughter stern looks and quipped, "Ann. several people have hinted about a possible affair going on with two people from the church. They didn't specifically mention you but suggested I warn you that people are talking."

After her warning, I called Zack, suggesting we meet at the church when others are around. He agreed and said he also heard the rumor but didn't think it was about us.

Was it because of other people's suspicion that I suddenly noticed Alice seemed to be avoiding me or looking at me with less than a friendly smile? Was I becoming paranoid thinking that Pete had become much less affectionate, that perhaps he was also suspicious?

I poured the cold coffee into the sink, rinsed the cup, set it on the counter and decided I would not go to Bailey's for Brunch. Zack and Alice would be there as usual. I needed to figure out how to work around the rumor, how to approach Alice and let her know nothing was happening, and I determined I would bring it up to Pete after the boys went to bed.

I showered, dressed, did some routine cleanup and started working on the info Zack had given me for the newsletter and Blog. Before I knew it, I heard the front door open, expected to hear the boys dashing to the game room to watch TV and was surprised it was quiet.

"You guys home?" I called.

Pete came to my office door. "I dropped the boys off at mom's. She's going to bake cookies with them."

"That's nice. How was brunch?" I turned off the computer.

"Ann, we have to talk." He motioned for me to follow him.

In the kitchen, he pulled a bottle of wine from the rack on the top of the refrigerator, opened it, and poured two glasses.

Oh, Oh, I thought, here it comes. He's heard the rumors.

Before I could say anything he guided me to the living room, nodded for me to sit on the couch and sat in a chair across from me. As I sipped the wine, he blurted,

"Ann, I've been seeing someone."

For a few seconds, I stared at him not sure what he said.

"I didn't mean for it to happen. It just did. Believe me, I tried to stop it."

When reality set in my hands began to shake. I put the wine glass on a side table and stared at him, not really believing what I was hearing.

"It started a couple months ago." He gulped his wine, grabbed the bottle, poured more into his glass as I sat silently dumbfounded.

"Alice and I," that's all I heard for a moment before muttering, "You and Alice? Zack's Alice?"

Nodding he looked beyond me. "We were concerned about you and Zack meeting at the diner. We got together to talk about it. One thing led to another and," he paused.

"You and Alice?" I was in stunned disbelief.

"Ann, I'm sorry. I really am but we've decided we want to be together."

"You and Alice?" I almost laughed, it was so far-fetched in my mind.

"I've rented a small apartment in Henderson. I think it's better if I'm not here in town. I mean we think it's better.

"You and Alice are moving in together?" Does Zack know?"

"She's telling him now."

"Have you told the boys?"

"No. I'm going to pack a few things and I'll stop by mom's and tell them. She said she'd bring them home."

"Your mom knows?" I jumped up, stomped to the window. "Who else knows Pete? The whole damned church?" I suddenly turned towards him. "You and Alice are the two the rumor has been about. That's what they wanted my mom to warn me. Not Zack and me. You and Alice." I had to fight the anger as it twisted with emotional pain.

"Ann. I'm sorry. We never meant to hurt you or Zack or the boys. We tried to stop it."

"How noble of you both!" I seethed as anger took over. "How mighty damned noble of you. I'm sure it caused you great stress."

"There's no need to talk anymore if you are going to be unreasonable about it. I'm going to pack."

I was speechless. Anger was obstructing the pain. I held back sobs. I wanted to stay angry. I wanted to pound him, hate him, scream at him. I watched him hurry from the room and gulped back any words. Refilling my wine glass, I sat on the couch and stared at the empty doorway. I could hear him moving upstairs, drawers opening, closing. I focused on keeping my hands from shaking and spilling the wine. I fought hard to stop tears. I battled the anger rising like bitter bile. Closing my eyes, I heard him coming down the stairs and sensed him standing in the doorway. Then the front door shut. He was gone.

I wondered what he would tell the boys. Thought about what to tell my mother. I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and dialed. "Are you okay?" I asked when the call was answered.

"I'm not sure. What about you?" Zack asked.

"It's not going to be easy. I know that."

"No, it isn't. It was like a bombshell hit me." He paused. "I had no idea. Did you?"

"No!" I started to cry and knew sobs were on their way. "I have to call my mom," I stammered over the lump in my throat.

"Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

I clicked off after mumbling that I would. I thought about Pete saying he and Alice tried to not let it happen and how many times Zack and I made sure it never happened. Because we did, we became good friends instead of lovers. I am glad we are friends. I know until this hurt dies I am going to need a good friend.

I dialed my mom wondering if she knew the truth about the rumors.

The End

Follow Irene Devlin on a covert mission in London and Paris. Mystery and intrigue wherever she goes.

All stories on this Blog are fiction from the imagination of the author. No similarity to anyone or any event is intended.

M. Bradley McCauley

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I Will Love Again.

2017-02-01T10:02:00.002-08:00

744 words - 6 minutes to read.

When her perfect lover died in the arms of another woman, she shut herself off to romance until a near death experience changed her life.

Another quickie short story--a break or waiting time read.

It was Valentines Day, not that it meant anything to me. It's been three years since I've had a Valentine or a date. I've had opportunities, but after the relationship with Mike, I haven't been ready to go through that pain again. Not ever. I could never trust again.

Mike was perfect. I thought he was perfect for me. He wasn't the best-looking guy in town, and not the most successful, but he was attractive, thoughtful and treated me tenderly. That's what I needed more than anything, to be treated with love and kindness. My ego and my heart had long been suffering until Mike came into my life and made everything wonderful.

We weren't kids. We were in our thirties, never married, and we each went through serious live-in relationships that didn't quite make it. We knew how tenuous love and relationships could be, and we wanted to make this one work.

Mike was a high school math teacher. He coached Pop Warner baseball, loved kids, and dreamed of one day being Principal of the private elementary school he had attended. Actually, he wanted to start his own private school, but circumstances kept him from acquiring the financing for that.

I was a field representative for our local newspaper. If a story broke on my side of town, I covered it. That wasn't my main income. I had invested a small inheritance wisely and was able to live comfortably while struggling to become a good artist. In my heart, I knew I would never be good but I loved the act of painting. I could absorb myself in the action. Determining the design, blending the colors, then dipping the brush onto the palette was like soothing music to my soul. Each stroke was a loving chord from my creative spirit.

When Mike died that music died. I couldn't paint anymore. I didn't want to paint anymore. Something inside me shut down closing off all creativity. I became a shadow of who I had been physically and mentally. You see Mike didn't just die; he died in the arms of another woman. Her husband is serving a life sentence for their murders. I have been serving a life sentence of grief, feeling the loss, betrayal, and deep sorrow, until last Saturday, three years after Mike's murder.

As I said, it was Valentines Day. The editor of the paper called me to cover an incident on my side of town involving a hostage situation at a small bank. When I got to the scene, the street was blocked with police cars. The SWAT team had just arrived, and according to Daniel Madison, one of my police buddies, a shoot-out was almost inevitable.

He was right. The two men inside began shooting. The bullets from their guns slamming into cars and trees lining the streets, and me. I hadn't yet ducked behind anything when shots came wildly spewing through the windows. I was down and out before I knew anything had hit me.

I understand it was touch and go for my recovery. For a few hours, they didn't think I was going to make it, but I did. My only memory of that time I was unconscious was having one of those near-death experiences. You know, where you float above your body, go through a tunnel, see a white light and emerge in this paradise atmosphere.

That all happened to me. I went to the other side where I was in a museum with exquisite paintings along the walls. Every framed piece of art contained musical notes and hearts of all sizes. When I analyzed it later while recovering, I thought perhaps Valentines Day was why hearts were in all the pictures, but I couldn't understand the musical notes.

Now, a week later, I see the whole picture. When I allowed my personal grief to take over my life, I cut off the music of my soul. When I go home today, I promise to begin again. Coming close to death made me realize that I have to open all the doors I had shut on feelings and live again. I promise myself I will not only paint again, but I will love again.

The End

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Writing Hot, Steamy, Sexy Romance

2016-12-05T08:56:00.000-08:00

One of my writer friends said she likes my romantic short stories but........there's that 'but'

"They would be way up on the best seller list if they had some hot and steamy scenes."

Erotica stories top the best sales list on Amazon in the romance category--probably in other genres also but for sure romance. I write romance but not hot, steamy, sexy romance. I write #Hallmark-style romances, the kind you can watch with your Grandmother. Oh, wait, I am a Grandmother, not that all Grandmas shy from hot and steamy romance, many of my friends read them regularly.

It isn't that I've never read hot and steamy romances, I just never tried writing erotica until now after a few 'how to' books. Not how to have hot and steamy sex, how to write it.

How to Write Hot Sex: Tips from Multi-Published Erotic Romance Authors -- Click the image for more details

I emailed my writer friend the following including my hot and steamy words, not blank as below. I don't want Blogger banning me.

She gasped as he took her ______ into his warm hungry mouth, his tongue swirling her_______. His long, tapered fingers toyed their way down her pale silky body until he reached her _____. When she moaned, arching her back as all thoughts of what a bastard he is fled as he reacted to her longing.

She e-mailed back.
"Great, go with it. You got me panting for more".

Yes, I am going to try writing it, using a pen name. I don't want my grandkids reading hot and sexy from Grandma.

Now I need to decide if I want to edit one of the romantic short stories I have, inserting sexy scenes or write a new sexy erotic romance.

I'll let you know. In the meantime, you can read some of my super short #Hallmark-Style romances here: Almost 10,000 views isn't too shabby

It's All About Romance-Romantic Short Stories

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My Google Adsense Earns More Income Than eBook Sales

2016-11-30T07:59:00.002-08:00

Using google Adsense on my romantic short story blogs earns more regular income than publishing and selling romantic eBooks. It's true. I'm thinking it is because the Blog stories are free to read. They can be bookmarked and read on any device that gets an Internet connection.

I use google Adsense on each of my blogs. The romantic short story blog gets the most views, over 9,000 so far and increasing every day.

Google Adsense is easy to use on a website or blog. Easy to set up, easy to use keywords to attract views, and best of all, easy to get paid.

My Cruise and Tour Free blog has earned more income with google Adsense than the ebook.

From now on, my concentration will be on using google Adsense on my Blogs more than publishing ebooks.

I also earn income on my blogs as an Amazon Affiliate user. I sell Amazon products that are relevant to the blog content. I have Amazon products for sale on this Blog both on the side bars and in the article.

I am happy to share any google Adsense or Amazon affiliate marketing info with you. Contact me on Facebook

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receive compensation from some of the entities listed here for referrals, as their thank you for sending you their way.

A Never Forgotten Romance

2016-11-17T06:28:00.000-08:00

When a Lover Returns

By. M. Bradley McCauley

Standing as the bridal march reverberates, I turn towards the rear of the church, wincing as arthritis pain stabs the back of my neck. I audibly gasp as my eyes fill with the glorious sight of my Granddaughter, Emily wearing my wedding gown, the gown I never wore. The pearl-studded bodice clings to her breasts, narrowing her waist as the ivory lace slips along her slender hips, pooling gently on the floor.

Beaming with pride, her father, my son David is handsome in the elegant tux, most likely an Armani if I know Maiya, my daughter in law. She has exquisite taste. David is the image of his father, the man I loved but never married. The man I will see today for the first time in 46-years. I wince again, this time from anxiety, not pain.

Feeling tears stinging my eyes, unsure if they are tears of joy for Emily, approaching Bryce, the handsome young man she is about to wed, or for the loss of a love so long ago. I tell myself they are tears of joy for Emily and Bryce, but there are memories plunging at my mind, forcing the tears to fall onto my cheeks.

I stare at the gown I bought to wear for my wedding to Robert, David’s father. The wedding that never happened. Moving my head to watch them make their way down the aisle, the pain shoots down my neck onto my left arm. I stifle a gasp as Maiya puts her arm around me, her eyes staring at my profile. “I’m okay, I whisper,” my attention riveting to David presenting Emily to Bryce.

For a moment, I wonder where Robert, David’s father is sitting. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw his name on the guest list. I can’t think of that now. I force myself to focus on the ceremony. The priest’s clearly spoken words taking my thoughts from the past.

"Family and friends, we are gathered today to witness the vows of matrimony between Bryce Michael Armstrong and Emily Marie O’Brien…”

My attention slips back again. It has been doing that often lately. Has it always been so slippery, swishing from one thought to another? I am thinking of Robert again in spite of trying to stay alert to the wedding.

We planned a simple wedding. My gown was the only extravagance. At that time, it wasn’t customary for a pregnant woman to wear a white gown, but only Robert and I knew about the baby. We planned to be married during his spring break from Yale.

Maiya reaches for my hand, bringing me back to the moment as Emily repeats her vows. I love my granddaughter more than life. She too is a part of Robert; hopefully, she will never know that he is her grandfather. It is my prayer that she and David never know.

Why is he here? The question shoots through my mind? Who invited him? I thanked God that he never revealed to anyone, at least not to my knowledge, that David is his son. Is he sitting alone? His wife Andrea passed away a year ago. Strange, she and my husband Arthur died within three months of each other. It will be the first time I see Robert in over forty years.

The priest introducing the newly wed couple to the congregation startles me from my memories as Maiya tucks her hand under my arm and helps me to my feet. The ceremony is over, the bride and groom beaming at an applauding congregation. They begin their walk up the aisle. David stands beside the pew reaching for Maiya’s arm, putting her on his left side, and then guiding me to his right. My eyes stare straight ahead, not ready to see Robert. Would I recognize him after all these years?

“She looked gorgeous, didn’t she Mom?” David whispers in my ear. I nod, my eyes raised toward the choir loft hoping not to see Robert, not after all these years. I suddenly feel ill, my chest tightening.

“Mom! What’s wrong?” David stops, looking down at me with concern in his eyes.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” I stammer, walking faster. Damn, it is a long aisle. I need to get outside. I need to breathe. I fooled myself into thinking I could face Robert after all these years, telling myself he meant nothing to me. Now, excruciatingly aware that he means everything to me, always has, always would, I ached to run away.

“Not this time,” I hear the words rushing through my mind. “You’re not going to run away this time.”

Outside the church, I force myself to smile, standing inside the circle of well-wishers tossing rose petals as the couple rush to the limo.

“You have a beautiful granddaughter.” A gentle baritone voice speaks softly behind me. I would know that voice anywhere. It is Robert. I refuse to turn; he is so close I feel his breath on my neck. “Megan, would you be offended if I say we have a beautiful granddaughter?” He whispers moving closer to me.

Standing ramrod stiff, I refuse to turn, wanting desperately to see the thick black hair that curled so slightly; teasing brown eyes that overflowed with looks of love and longing all those years ago. I don't want to see white hair, or a bald head or, or, damn, I don’t want him to see me. That’s it. He would not see the girl I used to be, the girl I still am inside. He would see an old woman with gray hair, no longer smooth soft skin or-or _ _

“Mom,” the limo is waiting.” David glances at Robert and introduces himself, as I stand like a statue afraid to move. Oh my God, what if he tells him?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, David. I’m Robert Jenson,” he pauses briefly, shaking David’s hand. “It was a lovely wedding.”

David slips his hand behind my back. “Will you excuse us, Mr. Jenson? Will we see you at the reception?

I catch my breath as he nods. "Yes. I'm looking forward to it. I’ll see you there, Megan.”

“Are you all right, Mother?” Maiya asks as I stiffly settle on the plush leather seat opposite her.

“Yes dear, I am fine, thank you.” Do they hear the tremor in my voice or see my hands shaking? I am sure they hear my heart beating wildly.

“Too bad Dad wasn’t here to see this,” David seriously glances at me for a moment. “He would have been bursting at the seams with pride watching his only grandchild walking down the aisle.” David’s smile is melancholic. His father’s death, or, at least, the man he thought was his father, wounded him deeply. Theirs was a special relationship all their lives.

I never told him the truth. Arthur said it was okay for me to tell him, but I couldn’t do it. Not just because I didn’t want my son to know I was pregnant with him without being married, but because of the bond between him and Arthur. I couldn’t take a chance of breaking that bond.

“David, it was the wedding of my dreams.” Maiya beams. She planned every detail. "Emily looked beautiful, the church, more elegant than I’ve ever seen it. Everything was perfect. I just hope the reception goes as well.”

“Who was that man you were talking to, Mom? I didn’t recognize him. You knew him, didn’t you? I mean the way he looked at you seemed mighty friendly.”

“Yes, I knew him a long time ago.”

Looking back and forth at us, Maiya asks, “And who is he? The man you’re talking about?”

Hesitating for a moment, I sigh. “Robert Jenson. He lived here with his family a long time ago. They owned the mill, the department store, the drugstore and just about everything else in town. They sold everything and moved to Florida before you and David moved here.”

I remembered what it was like being the girlfriend of the richest kid in town. Certainly not easy knowing that his parents resented him having anything to do with me. I wasn’t from the poorest section of town, but my mom, a waitress in the coffee shop at the drugstore they owned and my father, an over the road truck driver were not members of the country club. We weren’t poor, but we sure didn’t belong to the country club where Mr. Jenson was president and Mrs. Jenson was chairwoman of the Ladies Guild.

Maiya pulls a compact from the small beaded clutch bag, reaches inside for a lipstick, and flips open the compact. She carefully applies the brilliant red lip-gloss, snaps the compact shut, and then looks at me. “An old beau?”

Thankfully before I can respond, the limo glides in front of the country club. The same club that now accepts me as a member and David, like his great-grandfather, Robert’s father, is now president. How times change.

As I follow David and Maiya to the table, my eyes lock onto Robert’s. My heart sputters, skipping beats then accelerates. My breath escapes me, my knees weaken, and then my heart begins wildly thumping, pounding as our eyes held. He is looking at me the same way as years ago, just as I remembered them.

“Mom!” David leads me towards the table, pulls out the chair for me when I drop my beaded pearl evening bag. David picks it up, puts it on my lap, and unexpectedly kisses my cheek. “By the way, lady, did I tell you that you look gorgeous?”

He is unaware how much I need to hear those words, maybe not from him, but yes, from him. I need to believe them. I knew I was attractive for a woman my age, but I certainly wasn’t gorgeous. I was never what one would call gorgeous. Not bad looking but never a beauty. “Thank you, sweetheart,”

A resounding drum roll announces the arrival of the bridal party. “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Bryce O’Donnell!” The band plays a melody I never heard before as chairs noisily scrape the floor. We stand, applauding the young couple as they move to an elegantly decorated bridal table. Cameras click then Bryce kisses Emily as someone taps a spoon against his or her glass.

It is a festive room as everyone sits to give drink orders to bustling servers. Glancing around the room, I see Robert staring at me. He tilts his head, smiles and raises his water-filled goblet in a toasting gesture.” My God, he’s still handsome.” I whisper.

“Did you say something, Mother?” Maiya leans across the table.

I shake my head; close my eyes, listening to what the young people call music. It is deafening, guitars, more guitars, drums, and a keyboard. Where are the Saxes, trombones, and a piano? “Stop it Megan Rae O’Brien! Stop it this instant!” I mentally order myself. “It isn’t 1965.” Oh God, was it ever 1965? Wasn’t that only yesterday? Where have the years gone?

“I see you have the white flag, madam,” a server stands to my right. “That’s the swordfish. Is it what you requested?” I nod as a voice announces over the microphone.

“Emily and Bryce, family and friends, Father Stephen Grayson would like to offer a prayer of thanksgiving for our food and a special prayer for joy and happiness for our loving bride and groom.”

The reception is festive with gleaming chandeliers, buffed silver candelabra, Limoges china, Waterford crystal goblets and elegant Champagne glasses. Very classy, so Maiya, grandeur in every detail. Dinner is the crowning glory, thankfully without the raucous music. It didn’t last long. When the plates are removed, the group returns to the stage.

Watching Emily and Bryce dance as other couples join them, Robert is leaning toward me, his hand held out. May I have this dance?”

He is dashingly handsome in his fashionably tailored suit. My trained eye traces it to Bond Street, London. Not hard to guess since he has been living in England for nearly five years. Until recently he was one of our country’s foremost diplomats’. I read about it in the Washington Post when the president assigned him there and again on his recent retirement.

Pulling myself achingly to my highest position, throwing back my shoulders, and not looking up at him. I am silent as we walk to the dance floor. He is also silent as we move about as best we can to what is considered a danceable melody.

“You still wear Chanel!” I am unbelieving that he remembers after all these years? I nod, my eyes staring at the monogrammed silk handkerchief in the pocket of his suit coat. It is beautifully crafted. I should know, as a fashion coordinator for 18 years after Arthur and I married. I went on numerous trips to New York, Paris, and London, always hoping I would bump into Robert, always afraid I might.

“Whenever I am around that scent, I think of you.”

“Do you really, Robert?” I am still unable to look up at him.

“I’ve thought of you often over the years, Megan.”

When the music, or what is supposed to be music stops. I turn, my shoulders held back until I think they will break as pain nibbles down my spine.

“Megan. We need to talk.” He gently touches my shoulder.

I turn, finally looking up into his eyes, fighting tears that suddenly overwhelm my eyes.

“No, Robert. It’s too late to talk. I don’t know how you got an invitation to the wedding, but when I saw your name on the list, I, I,...” Words escape me as David takes my hand.

“Seems I’m always pulling her away from you,” he smiles at Robert. “It’s our turn to dance. If you’ll excuse us.”

“Mom, I think you’re holding back on me,” David twirls me around, cautiously, I might add. “What’s going on with you and that guy?”

“Nothing, David. We knew each other a long time ago. Your grandmother worked for his father. We dated a few times, nothing serious,” I lie.

Our obligatory, traditional dance is over when the group playing goes into a raucous piece, shaking the rafters. David grins knowing better than to suggest we dance another one. “I’ll take you back to the table, okay?”

“I think I’ll go to the Ladies Room,” I move cautiously among the gyrating bodies to the nearest restroom. Thankfully it is empty. I sit on the edge of a high-backed, wing chair, avoiding the oversized gold gilt mirrors, not wanting to look at my image. I want it to be the way I see myself in my mind’s eye. Who am I kidding? I haven’t looked like that in years. For a long time, I colored my hair champagne gold. Now I wish it was champagne again. I wish I brought my Champagne with me. Damn, I wish I had something stronger than Champagne. A good quality scotch would be ideal. I have never been much of a drinker but under duress, scotch is best.

Oh lord, I need to go back out there and face him. God, I wish he’d gone home. I wish he’d never come. Why did he come? Is it to see his son and granddaughter? Suddenly my heart is thrashing. Oh lord, what if he plans to tell David who he is? Is that why he is here, to tell David and Emily? Oh no, not on her wedding day. He couldn’t do something like that.

I bolt from the chair, forgetting the pains, unaware of the stiffness. I dart out of the room, dashing into the reception area. Scanning the room, I see him dancing with Emily. Something inside me nearly screams. I need to stop him. I can’t let him tell her. As I careen between dancers, blinding pains sluice down my arm. My breath comes in gasps as pain clutches my chest. Suddenly I am slumping to the floor. Then nothing, until I open my eyes aware I am in an ambulance. The siren screeching as an IV bottle sways back and forth. An attendant is looking down at me.“Are you in pain?” I shake my head. “We gave you a pretty heavy dose of nitro. We’re almost at the hospital. Just hang in there.”

I close my eyes, feeling his fingers on my wrist, the cuff of a blood pressure monitor squeezing my arm; I wonder if I am about to die. Somehow it doesn’t matter. I am overcome with weakness. No pain thankfully but weak.

I don’t remember much more about that night, arriving at the hospital, seeing David and Maiya rushing to my side, hearing Emily somewhere in the distance crying. Emily. She is supposed to be at her reception.

“Grandma,” she grips hand, “Grandma, don’t leave me, please, not now. I need you” David is holding back tears. I want to tell him it is okay. If I cross over, I will stay near them.

A nurse swooshes them out. “The Dr. needs to check her. Please wait outside in the waiting room.” A man is quickly at my side, holding an iPad or Tablet, whatever those things are they use instead of charts. “Well my dear, I think you’ve had a coronary. Let’s get an EKG and a few tests, to see what’s happening.” He mumbles instructions as the severe weakness overwhelms me, I feel myself slipping away.

The hospital stay is not long. It’s amazing what they can do with faulty hearts. It was determined by-pass surgery would be best for me, and I agreed. David and Maiya stayed by my side as much as they were allowed. We all convinced Emily to go on her honeymoon. I

Waking up after the surgery, David and Maiya are on either side of the bed. “Mom, don’t ever scare us like that again,” David’s eyes are moist.

After we visit for a bit, and I assure them I am not tired, David says Robert has been at the hospital throughout the entire time. “He wouldn’t leave.” After a moment’s hesitation, he adds, “Mom, we need to talk.”

“I’m going to get coffee.” Maiya kisses me “Dr. says you may have some decaf. What do we need to talk about I wonder as David walks with Megan and closes the door? Was there a problem with the surgery? Am I not as well as I think I am or will be?

“Mom,” another pause. “I know, and it’s okay.”

“You know what? David, you are scaring me. Is something wrong with me?”

“No. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s about Robert. Mom, I know he is my biological father.”

Stunned I merely stare at him as anger zooms into me. “I can’t believe he told you.”

“He didn’t tell me. Dad did, I mean Arthur told me.”

Seeing confusion in my eyes, he explains. “When I got a copy of my Birth Certificate to get my passport, I saw Arthur adopted me. You were on a fashion trip somewhere at the time. He told me another man was my father, but he didn’t tell me who it was. He asked me to consider not telling you that I knew.”

After a brief pause, he continues. “I think I knew outside the church when I saw how Robert was looking at you. Mom, I could see he loves you. Then watching him dancing with you, I knew for sure. What I’m not sure is how you feel about him. He has been here ever since they brought you in.”

“I am so sorry. I should have told you years ago. I don’t know why I...”

His finger touching my lips stops me. “Mom, it’s okay. I was mad at first, not because you weren’t married, but that you didn’t tell me. After I thought about it, I realized my life worked out great with you and Dad, I mean, Arthur.” He puts his arms around me,

“It’s really okay Mom. Robert and I have talked about it. He apologized over and over again that he wasn’t there for me. I assured him I knew the circumstances, that he and Arthur worked out a way for him to be in my life without your or I knowing it. He didn’t know Dad told me. I mean Arthur.”

This time, I am more than stunned. I am shocked. “What? What did he and Arthur work out?”

“I’ll let Robert tell you what that was all about. Okay if I let him come in? He’s been a nervous wreck waiting to see you.”

Not waiting for my reply, David goes to the door as Maiya returns with the coffee. David takes a cup, puts it on my bedside table, turns Maiya around and leaves without closing the door.

Robert is at the side of my bed within seconds, holding my hand. “You scared the hell out of me. I was so afraid I’d lost you again. I couldn’t bear losing you again,” he whispers, his voice husky, his eyes filling. “Promise me you won’t leave me this time.”

Tears stream down my face. After all these years, he still loves me, just as I never stopped loving him. I thought of Arthur. I loved him in a different way. He was my dear friend from childhood. He knew I was pregnant and followed me to New York, insisted we be married after I told him about Robert’s father’s threat. He cared for me for years. Gradually we fell in love and had a good and loving marriage, but there were always moments when I thought of Robert.
Over the next few days, Robert tells me that after I ran away, as he put it, he went back to Yale. When he graduated, he tried to find me. My mother told him I had gone to live with a relative. He heard from someone that I fled New York, nothing more. After searching for me there, he went back to Yale, got a master’s degree in Foreign Affairs, and became a political attaché. There was a time when he considered running for political office, but his wife begged him not to enter the public arena. He never had children; at least, he and Amanda never had children.

He waited until after I was out of the hospital, safely and securely at home, before he asked me why I left him all those years ago. Why I did I refuse to marry him and let him be David’s father? At first, I couldn’t tell him the truth. It was difficult to think about it after all the years. Finally, one evening as we sat on the terrace above the pool area of my condo, I asked him to pour me a Scotch. He raised an eyebrow and then winked at me. “Scotch? I didn’t know my beautiful gal was a drinker.”

“Only under duress,” I assured him, “only under duress.”

I gathered my thoughts, wondering how much I could tell him without causing anger at his father. Reaching back into my memory, I vividly recall all those years before when his father stood over me after he ordered me to his office. His face contorted in rage. “You did this deliberately. You tricked my son into getting you pregnant so you could do to him what your mother was unable to do to me.”

I gasped, shocked. What was he talking about?

“Your mother, tramp that she is lured me to her bed. She was always flirting around the coffee shop, throwing herself at me. Just like I’m sure you have done to my son.” I began to protest, but he shouted me down. “You cannot marry my son. He could be your brother, damn it, your own flesh and blood.”

I was as close to fainting at that moment as I ever have been, before the wedding reception that is. I became dizzy, weak. It was a good thing I was sitting down.

“It would be incest. A sin. A crime.” He shouted at me, and then lowered his voice, the anger replaced by a pleading look in his eyes. “Please, don’t do this. You cannot marry Robert.”

I regained my strength, just as I jumped from the chair that afternoon in the Ladies Room, so I jumped from the chair and ran from his office. I couldn’t bear to be near him. I ran home and confronted my mother. She denied it, but something in her eyes told me she wasn’t sure.

“Honey, I don’t know. Oh baby, I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell your daddy. Promise me you won’t tell your daddy.”

Later that night I was sobbing in my room. Daddy was on the road, and momma answered the door. I heard muffled voices but paid very little attention. My thoughts were muddled. What if it were true? What if Robert was my brother? The baby could be deformed. Oh God, what was I going to do?”

Momma tapped on my door. “Sugar! May I come in?”

I didn’t answer. She opened the door, came slowly into the room. “Honey, that was Robert’s father. He, well, he came by with a check. He said he would pay all expenses for you to leave.”

“Get out of my room!” I screamed at her.

“Megan. It’s the best thing for everyone.” She came towards me and I jumped up, pushed her to the door.

“Get out of here,” I screamed.

Before dawn, after a fitful night of sobbing, I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t tell Robert. It was hard enough on me. I couldn’t hurt him. I called my best friend Arthur, from the train station. He met me there, tried to talk me out of going, but in the end, he loaned me the money to go to New York.

I got a job in the garment district, assisting fashion models. Arthur came and we married. I learned more and more about the fashion industry and managed one of the finest designer shops in the country. After Arthur’s father died, he asked me to come back with him. He needed to look after his mother. It was the least I could do after what he did for me.

I finished sipping the Scotch as I told Robert what happened. Both our parents were gone; it would hurt no one to know. It takes a while for Robert to allow what I told him to sink in. I am concerned when he goes back into the condo for a few minutes then returns with the Scotch bottle and a glass. Touching up my drink and pouring one for himself, he finally says, “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you didn’t love me and didn’t want to marry me. You don’t know how I anguished all the years. I came back here, hoping you’d be home, or that I could find you in New York. I looked for Arthur’s name in the phone directory, when I heard you married him. I wanted to see you and my son.”

“Is that when you and Arthur made plans without my knowledge?” He had told me in the hospital about seeing Arthur, working a relationship that he could see David from a distance in various places in the city, They never made personal contact. He set up a trust fun to go to any children David might have. It will go to Emily someday.

“I’m sorry Robert.” It is all I can say.

“I would have defied my father, you know that.”

“Yes.”

“I wish I’d never told him we were having a baby.”

“I know.”

After a long pause, he continues. “David is a fine man. You and Arthur did a good job raising him. I am deeply indebted to Arthur for letting me observe him over the years.”

“Thank you.” It is all I can think to say.

The timer flicks on the lights in the apartment. “Do you want to go out for dinner?” Robert picks up the bottle and his glass, replaces them on the table, stands, comes to me, and holds out his arms and pulling me into them he whispers. “I love you, Megan. I always have. I always will.”

Epilog

Robert and I had DNA tests though we didn’t think they were necessary. There was no connection. We were married in a simple wedding. Emily was my matron of honor; of course, David walked me down the aisle, then stood beside Robert as his best man. Maiya hosted the after ceremony party. It was elegant, classy and very Maiya.

The End

Check out more M. McCauley Writings

An Irene Devlin Mystery-With a touch of romance

Seven Romantic Short Stories

A Life Changing Novel

How To Go On FREE Cruises and Tours

Never Let Romance Fade

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When love is still there but romance has drifted, you can change direction and cruise into exciting romance. Don't race into it. Take it slow and easy.

A Little Bit of Romance-7 Romantic Short Stories

A Glance Can Spark a Romance! Show it with a glance. You know the one I mean. A glance tells more in a second than long flowery phrases. Be sure it isn't one of those, "you know what I want" looks. When you rekindle the romance, your partner will be giving you those 'what I want' looks.

What You Say Can Lead to Play! Make it short.

"You look nice."

"I like the way you look."

"I missed you today."

"You’re beautiful"
"I’m so glad I met you"
"You’re my everything"

A Gift for No Reason. Again, make it simple. For her, a colorful silk scarf; a scented candle. For him, a tie, a tie clip, For either or, a video or music DVD,

Lyrics from an old song, "Little Things Mean a Lot" are still.

Little Things Mean A Lot

Blow me a kiss from across the room

Say I look nice when I'm not
Touch my hair as you pass my chair
Little things mean a lot

Give me your arm as we cross the street
Call me at six on the dot
A line a day when you're far away

Little things mean a lot
Don't have to buy me diamonds and pearls
Champagne, sables and such
I never cared much for diamonds and pearls
But honestly honey, they just cost money

Give me your hand when I've lost the way
Give me your shoulder to cry on
Whether the day is bright or gray give me your heart to rely on

Send me the warmth of a secret smile
To show me you haven't forgot
Now and forever , that always and ever
Little things mean a lot

Those Little Things really mean a lot and can rekindle romance you forgot,

Adventure and romance

An Irene Devlin Mystery-With a touch of romance

3 Romantic Short Stories-FREE to Read-No Download-No Sign-Up-Bookmark and Read

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Click on any blue underlined link to read any of the romantic short stories before publication

From Lust to Love in Chicago

Ellen returns to Chicago after 24 years and runs into Jack Logan, a guy she lusted for but never met. She connects with him in a museum and thinks maybe there is a chance for romance but...isn't there always a but....she reads of a possible engagement between him and Mindy. He assures her there isn't; they begin a relationship and suddenly she receives threatening phone calls.

A Romantic Cruise With Deception

A Never Forgotten Lover Returns
When a Lover Returns

M. Bradley McCauley Amazon books.

An Irene Devlin Mystery-With a touch of romance

w To Go On FREE Cruises and Tours

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M. Bradley McCauley