Bittersweet: A Short Story #Drama #Romance #MondaysMuse

She scrolled down the screen with her thumb and read the text again. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t change anything now but oh how she wished she could.

It had been nearly two years since she’d received the message and still those words caught up in a blue bubble managed to evoke the same response from her.

Sure, the outward expression had been dulled by familiarity and her obvious ability to recite the script by rote, but on the inside…on the inside she felt forgiveness.

Leander, David, had started the text with just her name, sending that one message alone before he continued with words that read as prose. He’d confessed that he loved her, still loved her, even though he had demanded a divorce and fought to estrange himself from her life…their life.

In his efforts, he had estranged himself from God as well but had blessedly found his road to repentance. More than anything, Leander was grateful for his renewed love for Jesus. She was humbled that she got to be part of that love.

David had requested that they meet, asked if he could swing by their old place. She’d told him no, not because she didn’t want to see him but because she wasn’t home. She’d actually just landed, her plane had come in from Arizona. It was an unsuccessful business trip. The clients had backed out of a multi-million dollar deal.

That failure had deflated her but seeing her prayers answered with David had given her a mighty and anxious boost. She wanted to see him. She asked him to pick her up from the airport.

He said he would. He had. But his heart had also stopped just moments after they’d engaged in an awkward but long overdue embrace.

He smiled down at her, eyes glassy. He managed to whisper he was sorry, that he’d been wrong. He told her that he loved her and had never stopped. She only just responded in turn when his face contorted and the strength of his arms around her yielded to weakness.

And then he was gone.

Leander pressed her eyes together and closed the text. Every day since she had played in her head all the scenarios that could have saved his life. But she wasn’t being realistic. She wasn’t superwoman. David’s condition was an anomaly. It was like a bullet shot in the dark that managed to hit a major target.

There was nothing she could have done. She couldn’t have loved him more. She was grateful that she’d at least loved him with forgiveness.

THE END

*Such a bittersweet tale. I enjoy the fact that I never quite know where these stories will go once I sit down to write them. Leander and David…bittersweet. These were my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt August 28th, 2017.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

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A Delicate Touch: Micro-Fiction #Monday’sMuse #Romance #Fiction

Watching him took her breath away. It was strange how he was so out of place on that land, and yet, somehow, he fit. 

It shouldn’t have shocked her. Although he’d been a drifter all of his life, farming was in his blood, or as he had reluctantly shared with her, horses.

He’d moved to town, taking ownership of his great-uncle’s farm when her parents’ loan had defaulted and ownership reverted back to the Latfield’s next of kin. Sage Latefield was that man.

Without him having said so, Livia knew that her family’s loss had become the biggest break in Sage’s life. He seemed to light up whenever he looked over the land, ran his fingers over the swaying heads of grass as if he were touching precious children.

The man had a delicate touch. She didn’t know it personally but the more she watched him, the more she learned him, the more she wanted to.

THE INBETWEEN…

*I hope you enjoyed that little nugget of Livia’s thoughts toward Sage Latefield. I had to stop there as the story has done far more talking than I expected and has given me the synopsis for a full-length novel, or a decent sized novella. Either way, there is much more to their story than the 150 words or so, shared today. Thanks for reading my results for Mondays’ Muse Writing Prompt August 14th, 2017.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

A Dish Called Denial: A Short Story #amwriting #comedy #RomCom

Is it wrong that I hope the knife slips and he cut off his fingertip? Sam is not a cook! He can’t even microwave a hot dog, yet for her, he seems to be making the extra effort.

I shouldn’t care. Sam isn’t my boyfriend, any more or at least at the moment. My boyfriend’s name is Earl, Earl H. Hemshawl, as he likes to introduce himself. I don’t know why he needs to give his full name. He said it had something to do with coming off more official-like or some foolishness like that. I don’t know.

Most of the time, for twelve days out of the thirteen that Earl and I have been an item, I haven’t even thought of us as being official. It’s a vicious cycle for me, one he has no clue about.

Earl doesn’t have a clue about many things. He’s just too nice to notice the mean in people and dang it I am mean! I think that is why Sam left me. He left me for her.

She is vile, I know.

They’ve been all googly-eyed for each other for three months now. It’s a phase. It’ll wear off soon enough and when it does I will be right here to pick him up and forgive him for his transgression. Make that, transgressions, as in plural.

I mean look at them. She’s got him playing the fool by the way he looks and acts. I mean he never looked at me like that nor did he do silly stuff like taking a cooking class! And why would he? Taste my roasted chicken and peach cobbler and you’ll understand.

Goodness! The world has gone to that dark, hot, place where that old sloop-foot devil dwells, by the way women can’t cook these days. I am certain half this class could burn water and that isn’t even possible. Blondy aka the temptress-formerly-called-Jezebel is one of them.

Clearly, her mama didn’t teach her a thing besides sniffing behind some other woman’s man.

Hold up a minute. Earl’s got tears in his eyes. This man is no good when it comes to onions.

TIMES UP SO THE END FOR NOW!

*I hope you enjoyed this little snippet of a full-length novel I have no choice but to write one day in the future. I think I will name the main character Ingrid…not sure of a surname yet but one will come in time. Anyhow these are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt July 31st, 2017.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Like Sunshine

The taste of his lips made her think of sunshine, the way it gently warmed her evoking a smile. The pleasure if it was new, his kiss, she’d never been kissed before, and yet this felt right.

He was right.

The wait for this moment, the diligent guarding of her heart had led her to feel like a lone soldier keeping vigil over the sacred, and this was sacred, the melodic play of his lips with hers.

The sense of blooming in her soul, called forth by such intimate waters, was meant to flourish into a garden where more life would grow. And it would grow with sweetness and hope.

And it all began with a precious kiss.

THE BEGINNING

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

 

As Sure as His Eyes Were Blue: A Poem #Monday’sMuse #Romance #Poetry

The warmth of his hand against hers warmed her far deeper than the coffee she held, and it was totally unexpected.

The blessed bliss, the memory of their first kiss, was instantly resurrected.

How touch and hold and glimpses from his eyes could turn the tide with truth, a truth so deep, of love so sweet, and as sure as his eyes were blue.

She dared not move, nor even breath, though the need pressed against her lungs.

The smile he gave was what she’d craved assuring her new things had begun.

THE END

*Creativity is a funny thing. This began as a short and wove its way into poetry. These are my results for Monday’s Muse June 19th, 2017

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Like Licorice: Micro Fiction #Monday’sMuse #AmWriting #Romance

He kissed her. Her mouth tasted like licorice, the cherry kind. It was far more tolerable than the black. The kiss was beyond tolerable.

That was the part that scared him the most.

Trying to pause the moment, he held on to her fingers and refused to let them go. It wasn’t as if she were trying to free herself. That would have made an already delicious and yet seemingly awkward moment far worse.

She was like a sister to him! They hadn’t quite grown up together being separated by a mere four years. But they had spent a lot of time together since he was friends with her older sister.

He blew out a breath and thanked the Lord he’d never dated either of them. Jules was still in the sister-friend zone, but Laney . . .

He loosened his grip on her fingers but still kept her in lingering touch. He studied her face, watched as her dark lashes fanned across the curves of her upper cheeks.

He wondered what she was thinking. He wished he could read her mind.

He wanted to kiss her again. He smiled when she looked him in the eye and kissed him the second time.

THE END

*These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt May 29th, 2017. 

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

A Golden Confession: A Short Story #ShortStory #AmWriting #Fiction

He sat his cup down and pressed his lips together in a hard line. She didn’t know if his expression was due to the bitterness of the brew or what she’d just said.

“I’m sorry!” she spat out. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she tried to press the burn of embarrassment from her cheeks with her trembling hands that had grown surprisingly cold despite the heat of the cup she’d been gripping as if it were a lifeline.

She’d clearly not gripped tight enough. She felt as if she were on the verge of death, dying of utter humiliation. Worse, it was her own doing. Why had she never learned to keep her mouth shut? At least she had already put in her resignation.

Hazel eyes, that normally shown with flecks of gold, green, and brown simmered like deep emeralds. He stared at her, seeming to not blink, his lips slowly drawing from stiffness to softness, but his eyes continued to blaze.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gold,” she apologized again. “You see? This is why … this is why in need to quit,”

She clumsily began to rise only to be startled by the strength of his hand drawing her back down to her seat. He held her fingers between his, this time, his eyes pressing closed.

Sick. Her confession had obviously made him sick.

“I’m not sick, Jericka,” an unfamiliar chuckle danced around his words. In truth, it wasn’t so unfamiliar, he’d just never laughed with her. It would have been the most pleasant thing, sitting there, holding her boss’s hand, him chuckling with mirth had his laughter not been induced by a statement she thought she’d said in her mind but had unfortunately voiced.

She was going to be sick.

“Oh, goodness,”

“I’m stunned, more so relieved, actually.” He rushed to finish his statement, positioning his hand around hers in a way that was more an embrace and less capture by force.

Jericka stared down at their union and then back up at Mr. Gold, Preston, she always referred to him as Preston in her thoughts.

Clearing his throat brought her eyes back to his face. His eyes still simmered that vibrant emerald but his lips were smiling.

Closing his other hand around hers, he said, “I am glad you said something, even if I am a bit ashamed that you were the one to go first.”

“You-you were going to say something to me?”

He nodded and suddenly looked very boyish.

“I thought,”

“I was going to fire you? No,”

She wanted to sink that wasn’t what she was thinking at all.

“I certainly wasn’t going to ask you to resign.” He pulled his hands away from hers and looked as if he regretted the break in connection. Jericka knew she did.

“To be honest,” he continued, “I didn’t know what was going to happen once I said something. I still don’t. I do know I don’t want you to quit. I’ve tried to distance myself as much as possible to keep things from being awkward. I tried. Failed. But I’m not complaining.”

“Especially now that I have accepted a different job, it won’t be awkward anymore.” She couldn’t keep staring at him. He’d known how she felt all along, tried not to encourage her, and had even invited her to coffee to address it.

“Especially now.”

She flinched as if struck.

“I mean, it would be inappropriate to ask you to come to dinner with me otherwise. I mean, no, I hate that you’ve already decided to leave the company, but at least we are here … now, having coffee and I think that is a good start.” He gave her a smile that almost made her melt.

It was only then that his words registered. Clearly, they had been coming at her like a jumbled text message sent out of order. First message, ‘I was going to say something before you.’ Second text, ‘I agree with you.’ Third text, and definitely her favorite, ‘I like you. Would you like to have dinner with me?’

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she managed to say, her demeanor shifting from cloudy to blue skies.

Preston smiled so widely that crinkle lines spread from the corners of his eyes. “Excellent,” he took a sip of his coffee before leaning forward. “And how about just calling me Preston.”

THE END

*A little light-hearted romance is always a pleasant surprise. These are my results for Monday’s Muse May 15th, 2017.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

Empty Cups: MicroFiction #AmWriting #Words #Romance

I wouldn’t say she was beautiful, more unique than anything, but she definitely had the kind of face that was unforgettable. It wasn’t in a bad way either.

The way the planes and curves of her cheeks, lips, and bones played with shadow and light did something to a man’s mind. It did something to mine.

Even now I see her image. I can even hear her laughter. The tone of it has left a scar as deep as my marrow and just as familiar as the freckles on my calloused hands.

I wish I could say things ended well. More than anything they simply ended. My call, my shot, my rules and my way . . . I was doing her the favor by being by her side, wasn’t I? I was the pretty one they said. I was the one that was so full of life.

I was full of something and that goes without saying.

I was full of her. The truth is I am nothing more than an empty cup, sat on a ledge waiting for someone else to fill me.

Sad truth is I only want her.

THE END

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

The Pull of the Rain: A Free Flow Write #Romance #Writing

the-pull-of-the-rain

“I don’t know how to win you.” He said, the lines in his brow straining against the pull of the rain. The eyes that looked back at him were equally intense, equally determined.

But why? Why was this such a struggle? Didn’t she understand? He pulled his hand down his face, callouses brushing against evening whiskers that had begun to sprout beneath the brutality of the day. Dampness, not only from the rain but from the sweat of his exertion made his shirt cling to his chest, arms, and back.

He needed to quit this, he needed to quit her, he needed-

“Didn’t you hear the bell?”  A voice cut through the patter of rain against wet earth. A finger of lightning traced the sky and pointed towards the house a little ways off. It was as if the finger of God was telling him, “Go home, Jesse. That is enough.”

Jesse ground his teeth, walking toward the edge of the fence. He met the woman’s gaze as she shielded her eyes against the falling rain with the kitchen towel she held above her head.

Why is she out here? 

She asked again, “Didn’t you hear the bell? I rang it several times.”

“I heard it.” His voice was clipped. She paused, as was her way as of late, and traced his face as if it were a page of a novel she was reading. She was reading him.

“Alright then,” she finally said. Her hands dropped down, pulling the kitchen towel from over her head. She twisted it between her hands before glancing once over his shoulder and then back at the house.

She had only gotten a few steps before Jesse forced himself out of the corral. He took hold of her arm and turned her around to face him, another generic apology ready upon his lips.

“Hannah,” He said her name but paused, the expression on her face striking him to silence. Even beneath the wetness of the falling rain he could tell there were tears upon her face.

He had never given a care for her tears, never given a care for her. He didn’t know how to win her either. He didn’t know how to bring peace from an unwanted union, or love from two lonely hearts made stone. Nothing he had tried to do had done any good with Hannah, the same way nothing he had been trying to do with the blasted horse was working either.

He felt defeated, he could tell that Hannah did as well, the dip at the corners of her mouth said so. He touched the side of her mouth with his fingertip and felt a jolt of electricity that was not unlike the lightning.

Before he could make heads or tails of why he had touched her mouth with his hand, he touched her lips with his, something he had not done since the day they said “I do,” and even that was short lived and almost painful.

But it wasn’t so with this kiss, not with how the rain blanketed them, not with how Hannah’s unsure hands found their way up his chest, or how his arms found their way around her curved waist.

It was peace. It wasn’t winning, it wasn’t losing. It was just the sweetest surrender; giving into the wanting and being met with the same determination.

THE END

*Originally published April 9, 2015.

 

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

The First Day: A Poem

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It is time I familiarize myself with you again

The sound of your whisper

The scent of your skin

The savor of your closeness when we are lost within

An embrace that gives life meaning

Intertwined and woven like branches above

A canopy of safety echoing the songs of doves

It’s the one thing my heart and soul are dreaming of

The Earth on the first day of Spring

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!