Shelter in Place: Quarantine Romance Collection Includes New Novella

by Jamie Knight

  “Like non-Catholics celebrating St. Patrick's day,” I said.

  “Yeah, pretty much. Anyway, I was really only here to be the nanny and help with Jess. Then all this happened.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “No, of course not, but how long can it really go on? I have to think about the future. So, I've decided that when the lockdown is over, I'm going to apply to nursing school. It's something I've wanted to do for a long time. I gave a good shot at being a ballerina, more of a childhood dream than an actual career aspiration, but that's not going to happen anymore, and I'm no longer needed as a nanny. Which I honestly loved, but it is time to get serious and decide what I am going to do with the rest of my life.”

  “And you have to leave to do that?” I asked, still confused.

  “I won't be the nanny anymore.”

  “So? Where is the school?” I asked.

  “Here. In New York, I mean.”

  “So, you could go to nursing school and live here?”

  “Well yeah, but wouldn't that be weird. I mean, we’re not even a couple?”

  “I seem to remember a lot of coupling,” I pointed out.

  “Well, yeah, but I don't remember any sort of commitment or anything. For all I know, you could throw me over at any time.”

  “Do you really think I would do that?” I asked.

  Another long pause. I took some comfort in the fact that she was thinking about it before responding. “No.”

  “Exactly. Listen, I can't promise you everything, but I can tell you this much. I love you, Becky, and I want you to stay. If you want to go to nursing school, I am more than ready to support you in that. I'll even pay your tuition if you want.”

  “You don't have to.”

  “But I want to, and I can. We need more nurses, and you could help a lot of people. I would consider it paying forward.”

  “Well, yeah, that would be awesome, actually. It's costly.”

  “I'm not surprised.”

  “You really want me to stay?”

  “Forever if possible.”

  “I don't think it is, but we can give it a good try.”

  Becky kissed me softly, slipping her tongue into my mouth. I returned her gentle affections, letting her know that they were very much mutual. Pulling away, she shifted onto her back, spreading her legs wide.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, gently stroking her pussy.

  “Yes, I-I trust you.”

  After licking her gently to orgasm to help get her ready, I climbed slowly on top of her, the head of my very hard cock brushing against her wet pussy. Taking hold of myself, I eased myself into her, slipping inside inch by inch, feeling her tight little pussy stretch out in my wake. I got most of the way inside her before she let out a soft yelp.

  “You okay, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, please, fuck me, baby.”

  At her word, I did just that, fucking her to orgasm in just one of the positions we would go through on that oh so long night.

  Epilogue - Dean

  I had forgotten how beautiful the sun could be. The second we heard the lockdown was lifted, we all went for a walk in the park. Jessica observed the behaviors of the local ducks as Becky and I cuddled on a nearby bench. It had been a few months since our first encounter when I hadn't been really careful about where I was coming, and she was really starting to show. I could almost I could feel the baby moving if I put my hand on her belly.

  Jess was almost as excited about her new little cousin as we were. We already knew it was going to be a girl and had a name picked out. Simone.

  “Hey guys,” Joe said, coming up over the crest of the hill.

  “And he arrives,” Becky said.

  “See you at home,” I said, giving her a quick kiss.

  “Bye, Uncle Dean,” Jessica said, hugging my leg goodbye.

  “Bye, honey. You sure you're okay to get her home?”

  “I think we'll manage.”

  “Shall we walk?” Joe asked.

  “Let's.”

  There was a coffee shop a few blocks away we both liked. At least we had the last time we had been there before I went to England. In a way, I was surprised that it was still there after all those years — the forces of gentrification doing a real number on the entire city. You had to go all the way out to Lincoln Heights to find some good, proper seediness anymore.

  “I could hardly believe it when it actually showed up. All those zeros!”

  “Have you ever know me to be a liar?” I asked.

  “Well, no, not really. A rare thing these days, but still, can you really blame me? It really isn't, you know, characteristic of you, Dean. You usually don't spend a dime unless it is on yourself or to fight the power.”

  “I've reassessed my priorities,” I said, getting my London Fog from the serving end of the counter.

  We took our drinks to one of the refinished old tables by the window where we could watch the world go by. Everyone looked like they were in even more of a rush than usual. They were trying to catch up on life after such a lengthy lockdown.

  “Well, blimey, guess miracles really do happen, Mr. Scrooge,” Joe said, doing his best approximation of a Dickensian urchin.

  “First, Scrooge was a miser who didn't spend money on anyone, including himself. Two, never do that accent again.”

  “Awe come on, you do.”

  “Yes, but you see the difference, dear boy, is that I have put in my time,” I said, sounding like someone with a title in front of their name.

  “Wow.”

  “I know, right?” I said, taking another sip.

  “Did you get it?”

  By way of reply, I took the small black box out of my pocket and placed it on the table between us. Joe picked it up and carefully opened it, as though it might detonate at any time. There, cradled in the black velvet base was a solid gold ring with careful etching around the outside, a large diamond set in the middle surrounded by smaller rubies.

  “It was my grandmothers. I asked my dad if he knew where it was, and by some merciful act of the fates, he remembered. I just picked it up today.”

  “You flew to France?”

  “The concords are very fast.”

  “The concord isn't flying anymore,” Joe pointed out.

  “I think you sometimes forget just how rich my family is.”

  “Yeah, but come on.”

  “Two castles, Joe.”

  “I always thought that was metaphorical,” Joe said.

  “The battlements would indicate otherwise. I tried to add it all once. The calculator exploded.”

  “Come on, that's an exaggeration.”

  “Only a little bit. The problem isn't the ring, it’s how to give it to her.”

  “I've always found the direct approach to work. Maddie and I have been together for ten years, after all.”

  “I know that's why I thought to ask you,” I said.

  “Look, man, it's not that complex. You love her. Becky loves you. She's having your baby, which is a sign of commitment if there ever was one. I highly doubt she is going to say no.”

  “I want it to be special,” I argued.

  “You could try the custard approach,” Joe suggested.

  “Die on a big hill surrounded by enemy natives?”

  “No, not the Custer approach. The custard approach is when you surprise — though, with you, it would probably be more like shock — her with a nice meal, including a fancy dessert in which the ring is hidden.”

  “Now, that's a good idea.”

  “I have my moments,” Joe said with a shrug.

  There was no one around when I got home. Apparently, I had gotten back first. Jessica really did like ducks. Seizing on the opportunity, I booted it into the kitchen and put all my hard-learned cooking and baking skills to work, making one of the nicest spreads the house had ever seen, including the somewhat novel addition of a large plate full of Philly cheesesteaks. Or at least my closest approximation of the species.


  No sooner had I laid everything out than I head the front door close, excited voices filling the front room. Most of the joviality was coming from Jessica, who seemed to have energy to spare. Becky was really just trying to keep up.

  “Oh, hey, babe,” Becky said, catching sight of me in my finery.

  “This way, please ladies,” I said, sounding as close to a Downton Abby character as possible.

  “Why is he talking like that?”

  “No idea, honey,” Becky said, following me into the dining room anyway.

  I pulled their chairs out for them, helping Jess up onto hers, both of them gazing with some surprise at the spread I had managed to conjure.

  “This is amazing.”

  “Thank you,” I said, bowing my head politely.

  “Who helped? Is your mom hiding somewhere?”

  “We've been doing a master chef class,” Jess said.

  “Yeah, but still, wow!”

  “I think I'll take that as a compliment,” I said.

  “Good, it was meant as one,” Becky said, reaching for a cheesesteak and taking a bite.

  “What do you think?”

  “Pretty close,” Becky said, mouth still full.

  The meal went off without a hitch, and then it was time for dessert. A New York cheesecake recipe I had just learned but looked pretty good none the less. I gave Becky the piece with the ring in it, not expecting her to eat it so fast.

  “No!” I shouted, not quite sure how to do the Heimlich on a pregnant woman.

  She blinked at me. “What? It was good.”

  “There was an engagement ring in there! I was trying to surprise you! Should I call a doctor? Will the baby be okay?”

  “This ring?” Becky asked, pulling it from where she had hidden it inside her lip.

  “How did—”

  “Felt it on the fourth bite. And yes, by the way. I will marry you.”

  THE END

  Cramped Quarters

  Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance.

  All rights reserved.

  Jamie Knight –

  Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author

  Chapter One - Rachel

  The scent of fresh cut grass blended with the wafting aromas from the food trucks, which formed a daisy chain on the circle drive around the Student Union Building. Both the groomed lawns and the culinary extravaganza were acts in the show. It was as if the administration was showing off how much money it could extract from freshmen to pour into unnecessary displays.

  This was a strange contrast when you considered the fact that this university embodied the best theology school in the state. This was the site of the type of scholastics I’d dreamed about since I’d discovered such institutions existed. I just didn’t realize that they’d be so showy in their wealth.

  While other girls my age were hanging pictures of Bieber and his ilk on their bedroom walls, I, as a young teenager, had a glossy photograph of these hallowed halls on my wall. Right next to the oil rendering of our Lord and Savior.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Dad asked, the wheels of my last suitcase touching down on the asphalt.

  “Yes, Daddy,” I lied.

  I wanted to slap myself. I was eighteen, about to start university, and I was still talking like a little kid.

  “I’ll go up with you, just to be certain.”

  From what he needed to protect me, I couldn’t fathom, but I never argued with my father. Particularly when he insisted on paying through the nose for my tuition and carrying my bags up to my dorm room, leaving me to unload just a small backpack. He was a man of extremities, my dad. Both in terms of love and hate.

  Part of the deal for having the theology school was that the students had to live in general housing. The administration was far too tightfisted to splurge on a whole new dorm building.

  Once we got inside, it was like a paint-ball team exploded. The corridor of the residence was a riot of bright colors and shapes. I thought my dad might swoon right then and there, but he plucked up his Irish courage and forged ahead. His steely blue eyes set on an imagined Calvary.

  The administration had saved money by “letting” the students decorate the dorms. For no pay of course. They were no doubt expecting the results of letting a pack of young adults, free from home for the first time, loose with decorating supplies. One brave soul even got away with putting 1312 on their door.

  “Good year,” Dad mused, admiring it.

  I was supposed to be sharing my room with another girl named Jinx Devlin. But when we arrived at room 113, there was only one name on the whiteboard screwed into the powder blue door. Mine.

  “That’s different,” Dad commented.

  It was, but I wasn’t about to say so. Not least of all because when he said ‘different,’ I got the strong sense he had meant ‘wonderful.’ He had been rather insistent that I get a big room on a floor ‘with no boys.’ The housing office couldn’t promise the lack of males on our floor, but could be sure they roomed me with a girl. Now I wouldn’t even have that. It gave me the opportunity to be cloistered away and focus exclusively on my studies. And to eat occasionally.

  I suspected Dad would have sent me to a nunnery if that was still legal. Though the previous twelve years of convent school had been close enough. I suppose it says it all that our headmistress had been appropriately nick-named ‘The Wrecking-Ball.’

  “Wonderful!” Dad exalted, finally saying what he meant as always, consequences be damned.

  I couldn’t disagree with him there. The dorm was massive. It was closer to a two-bedroom condo with a huge open-concept living area, separate kitchen with a pass-through and one of the biggest bathrooms I’d ever seen, with a tub so deep I worried I might drown in it.

  “Glad to know my money is going to good use,” Dad said, then added, “see you later, kitten.”

  Giving me a goodbye kiss on the cheek, he all but jigged out of the apartment, leaving my luggage sitting under the pass through. As the door closed, my heart stopped. Or at least that was what it felt like.

  It was real. I was alone. In a strange place with no one to talk to or ask for help. I fell to my knees, trying not to cry as the shock and fear washed over me. Pulling myself together enough to move, I pulled my backpack off and dug the trough until I found it.

  Moving the small, smooth beads between my fingers, the prayers and petitions came as naturally as breathing. I prayed for courage and focus, to serve Him to the best of my potential in his holy name as the beads of the rosary made their rounds. I’d been using the same one since I was ten and knew every last bead on it.

  Equilibrium slowly coming back, my breathing went from deep gulps to something more closely resembling regular intervals. I tried to focus my mind. There was work to be done.

  Returning the rosary to the backpack, I got out my laptop and looked at the reading list for the semester. It was long and detailed, some prices coming close to my food budget for the month. Steeling myself against the forces of darkness, I copied the list to my phone and headed out to look for the bookstore.

  The campus wasn’t as big as some. In the suburbs, it combined the steely exterior of a big city campus like NYU with the size and scenery of a smaller, more pastoral institution like the University of Oregon.

  I had to struggle to keep my mind on the task at hand, because I was continually distracted by the splendor of it all. Controversial as it was in some circles, I thought Newton was certainly onto something when he used the beauty of nature to argue for the existence of a benevolent creator.

  One thing I truly had to give the administration credit for were the small, British-style signposts. Each one was spiked with arrow shapes pointing in the general direction of the most important locations on campus.

  Within minutes, I was ascending the steep stone stairs to the new library building. I held down the back of my skirt just in case there was anyone close behind me. I’d considered wearing pants to avoid such situations, but I could
never get used to them. I had what Dad called ‘princess skin,’ which, while it sounds nice, could be annoying sometimes.

  The bookstore was packed. Dozens of students were coming and going at any given time, adding to the unfathomable line stretching from the checkouts, through a maze of spectators taking up most of the western half of the floor space and back out the door again.

  The actual shelves weren’t so bad. The class readings were kept separate from the general fiction and non-fiction the store also carried. I had to get a basket for all my weighty tomes. Some of them stood out as rather unusual. Not least of which was the volume concerning St. Francis of Assisi, a friar I got the impression was something of a heretic. As attested to by the fact that he was decanonized and reinstated no fewer than three times, depending on who was wearing the Pope’s hat.

  His ideas were admittedly radical. He held notions such as religious enlightenment coming from within and not adhering to an outside institution. Slightly less controversial was the assertion that because God is a creator, creativity is the highest form of human endeavor, following the example of the Lord.

  Hauling my cargo the length of the floor plan, I found the end of the line, which started roughly where I had come in. I migrated forward just enough so that I was actually in the building.

  “Wow, that’s a load!” someone exclaimed.

  “Wha-?” I asked, turning in the direction of the voice.

  “The books. How many courses are you taking?”

  “Six,” I said, always taught to answer plainly and truthfully.

  “Holy shit!”

  I blushed at her blasphemy. I didn’t mean to. I wanted nothing more than to fit in to my new surroundings, yet I still felt the heat rising in my cheeks. Like it did during confession.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m just not used to talk like that.”

  “Convent school?” she asked.

  “Exactly. How did you know?”

  “You have the look. I went to St. Andrews.”

  “You’re a Presbyterian.”

  “Very much fallen away. I’m Jenna.”